Not for Anything: The Triwizard Tournament
by Penitent Rebel
Summary: Part Four of the "Not for Anything" series. AU. James Potter is alive and raising Harry. Goes through Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts. Rated T.
1. Devoted to Death

_Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, and situations belong to J.K. Rowling._

_Special thanks to the incredibly talented LauraWinter for helping me gather my random ideas into a cohesive plot and for being the beta for this chapter._

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Tom Riddle couldn't cry. He could not remember ever once shedding a tear, even when he was very young. It wasn't that he hadn't tried. The ability to cry would have come in very handy in his attempts to make himself appear sympathetic, he knew. He sat in his bed sometimes, willing his eyes to water, but they never did. Teardrops were one of only very few things that he could not force to obey him. The knowledge didn't bother him over much. Crying was for those too weak to do anything about their problems. Tom Riddle was many things, but he was not weak. The very fact of his survival proved that.

From the time he was very young, Tom was a natural mimic. He could easily manipulate those around him. He could smile at all the right moments, and express sadness when it was appropriate to do so. He could feign fear or despair or remorse, but he never felt those emotions. He experienced only rage. He pitied those who were slaves to emotions like love and sentimentality. Nevertheless, he was able to mimic these feelings so well that few knew he was incapable of them.

Tom knew only disdain for the stupid people around him and the silly things that emotions forced them to desire. He never craved true love or longed to follow his bliss. He never yearned for any of those worthless things on which the inferior people around him spent their dreams.

Tom desired only one thing in life: power. And he would go to any lengths to get it.

For the first eleven and a half years of his life, he was a mystery, even to himself. He heard the story of how he came to be at the orphanage from Mrs. Cole, the matron. His mother was young, and poor, and sick. She stumbled into the orphanage at the dying of the year and gave birth to Tom. They thought he would be a New Year Baby, full of hope and promise, but instead he was born a few minutes before midnight, entering into the year just in time to see it breathe its last. Years later, Mrs. Cole would think it an omen, as though Death had marked the infant as a loyal servant from the very moment of his birth.

His mother held him and named him Tom Marvolo Riddle - Tom after his father, and Marvolo after his mother's father. Then she handed the baby to Mrs. Cole and said, "I hope he looks like his papa." Minutes later, she was dead. She was but the first of many people who would die for Tom Marvolo Riddle. Before Tom was even an hour old, death was already nipping at his heels.

According to Mrs. Cole, Tom indeed looked like his father. She claimed he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the sad woman who gave her own life for his. Mrs. Cole told him the story often. Many of the children at the orphanage loved to hear stories about themselves and their parents. They would beg to be told, but Tom hated that story; hated that his mother was weak enough to die, and hated that she had left him in such an awful place.

Tom couldn't remember when it was that he discovered he was different from other people. It seemed to him he had always possessed the knowledge. One of his earliest memories was of being trapped in a crib and raging against the bars that confined him. He screamed out his anger, but no one came. Suddenly, inexplicably, the crib tipped over, and Tom walked out, tottering on unsure legs. He was out the door and down the street before anyone knew he was gone. A policeman caught him running down the street and brought him back to his frantic wardens at the orphanage. While walking away, the policeman tripped and fell down the front stairs, breaking his neck on the way down. Tom always knew that he had somehow caused the crib to fall and the policeman to trip. He couldn't have said exactly how he had done it, but he knew he had.

He discovered many other abilities as he grew and began to hone them carefully. When he was four, he found a grass snake at a park and felt an odd affinity for it. "I wish I could be a snake," he said to no one in particular. "And slither far away from here."

"You don't want to be a snake," the snake replied. "Humans try to kill me."

Tom was sure he was losing his mind. "You talk?" He asked the snake.

"Only to you," the snake replied. Over the years, he tried the trick again with every snake he encountered and found that he could talk to them all. When he was five, he found an adder on an outing and brought it home with him, convincing it to crawl into Mrs. Cole's bed. He hoped it would bite her and she would die. He hoped they would close the orphanage once she was dead, but she found the snake and killed it before it could hurt her. Tom was saddened by the loss of the snake. By that time, he much preferred snakes to people. Snakes were always kind to Tom. People rarely were. And Tom felt no desire to be kind to them in return.

By the time he was six, he could control his abilities. He spent hours practicing with a single-minded desire to gain power over those around him. He could move objects with only his mind. He could force the other children to do his bidding through sheer force of will. He could hurt them without touching them if they refused. He carried vendettas against those children who would not conform to his will, and he always took his revenge. Once, when he was seven, he pulled out his own fingernail and reported to Mrs. Cole that one of the big girls had held him down and done it. The girl had called him a name in the hall just the day before. Tom felt a small surge of joy when the girl was sent to work for a family despite her insistence that she was innocent.

The girl's departure gave him the idea to try to get himself tossed out as well. That was when he began being actively cruel to the other children. Once a boy tried to fight with him and he stole the boy's pet rabbit and hanged it from the rafters above the boy's bed. When the boy went to bed that night, he saw the rabbit and screamed. Tom lay awake listening to the boy crying over the rabbit and smiled. Another time, he trapped a little girl on the roof in the dead of winter and forbade her to call for help. They found her the next morning, nearly frozen to death. When they asked her how she got up there, she said, "Tom made me fly." They thought her traumatized, and she quickly learned to keep the truth to herself.

No matter what he tried, however, Mrs. Cole would not let him leave.

Until, that is, he was eleven.

That was when a man called Dumbledore appeared unexpectedly on the steps of the orphanage and promised to take him away.

Dumbledore unnerved Tom immediately, something few people could do. Tom realized at once that this would not be a man he could control. By then, controlling others had become second nature to him, so losing the ability crippled him in ways he did not expect. His bright blue eyes seemed almost to see through Tom, as though seeing into the darkest places of his very soul.

Dumbledore told Tom he was a wizard, which was why he could do so many things others could not, before inviting him to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to be trained.

Tom was not surprised to find he was special; he had always known it. He determined to go to Hogwarts and learn everything they could teach him there. Then, he would go out into the world with his powers and cow the weak-minded people who had always surrounded him.

At Hogwarts, a new world was opened to him. He learned to control his magic and use it to do things he had never dreamed. He chose for himself the role of the sympathetic orphan, and had all his teachers, save Dumbledore, wrapped around his finger by the end of his first week. He pretended to be awed and excited about everything. Whenever a professor told him how well he was doing, he would smile and give them a heartfelt thank-you. At the end of his first month, he managed to brew a complicated Potion and Slughorn, the Potions professor and Tom's head of house, patted him on the shoulder and said he was proud. "No one's ever told me they were proud of me before," Tom replied shyly. He was amazed at how often his professors began saying the words after that. Emotional people were so predictable.

As he and his talents grew, he began to collect hangers-on, mostly those who were as power-hungry as he was but not talented enough to steal power for themselves. Tom allowed these hangers-on to remain with him, fawning over him and doing his bidding. They were useful, so he came to value them.

At Hogwarts, Tom tried to discover the truth about his parentage. Dumbledore had told him that one of his parents was magical. Tom assumed it must be his father because his mother had died. Tom was quite sure that someone magical could not die. He was outraged when he discovered that his father was a simple muggle. He promised himself he would kill the man one day and abandoned the weak name that his weak parents had shackled him with. He fashioned for himself a new identity. To his admirers, Tom Marvolo Riddle became Lord Voldemort. Someday, he knew, he would be so powerful that people would tremble before him and speak his name only in whispers. Someday.

Armed only with his middle name, Voldemort began his search again and found that he was descended from a once-great, though now more or less defunct, family known as the Gaunts. They were the last direct descendants of the famed wizard Salazar Slytherin, the man who had given his name to Slytherin House at Hogwarts, the house to which Voldemort himself belonged.

Voldemort reveled in the knowledge that he was Slytherin's heir. It was more proof to him that he was truly special. He delved into magical history to discover more about his ancient relative, which was how he came across the legend of the Chamber of Secrets and became the first person to open it in a thousand years. He used the monster inside - a centuries-old basilisk - to purge the school of the filthy muggles, like his father, who dared to infest the magical community. He didn't stop, even when he killed one. He only stopped when the school governors threatened to close Hogwarts and send him back to the orphanage.

Voldemort may have hated muggles, but he loved himself much more. If they had to stay alive a few more years so he could continue his education, he could live with that. The time would come soon enough when he would annihilate them all.

After all, a basilisk wasn't the only way to kill. Voldemort was thirteen when he learned about the killing curse. He put it to use immediately, fascinated by the immediacy of the death it caused. He started using it to kill animals. At first, it was small things: a Gryffindor's cat, a fox, a wild dog. He quickly graduated to larger animals. He found a unicorn once while wandering in the forest and killed it solely for the singularity of the act. Not long after that, he stumbled across a lone centaur and left it dead in his wake.

The first time he killed a man at wandpoint, he felt nothing. That surprised him; he would have expected to feel something. But he felt nothing more than he would have felt if he'd just squashed a bug, only a small sense of accomplishment at having mastered the killing curse. He was fourteen years old, and already he was the master of death.

Only one thing bothered him. It was a small thought, yet it lodged itself firmly in the back of his mind and would not give him any peace. He may be able to control the lives and deaths of others, but he could not control his own. No matter how much power he gained, one day he, too, would die. The thought terrified him in a way that nothing else could. And so, he began to research how to truly master death. He threw himself into the project and discovered two possibilities: Hallows and Horcruxes. He quickly chose the latter. The Hallows would have to be searched for, while Horcruxes could be created. Voldemort had always been a man of action: creation appealed to him much more than discovery. He set cheerfully about the task.

By the time he graduated from Hogwarts at the age of eighteen, Voldemort had already pushed magic to its stretching point, taken it farther than it had ever been taken before, and assured his own immortality.

For the next two and a half decades, Lord Voldemort hid in the shadows, amassing his armies and making his plans. It would not do to show himself too soon and risk ruining everything. He vowed not to make his move until he was strong enough to overtake the entire magical community. He began by contacting those who had admired him at Hogwarts. Nearly all of them jumped at the chance to serve Voldemort once again. Those who did not, died.

Next, he reached out to the outcasts - those creatures that wizards had kept under foot and promised them a share in his power. He had no intention of keeping his promise, but the giants, werewolves, vampires, dementors, and hags who joined him in droves never suspected that he would betray them. They called themselves the Death Eaters, because they served the man who had not only defeated death, but rendered it obsolete.

The attacks began slowly. Voldemort kept to the underground, using subterfuge and blackmail to build his power base. Rather than assassinating powerful figures, he threatened their families and kept them on as puppets, willing to do anything he asked to keep their loved-ones safe. An undercurrent of terror rippled throughout the magical community. Every attack brought renewed fear.

He developed a calling card to identify his work, a skull with a snake slithering out of it mouth called the Dark Mark. Every magician lived in fear of coming home one day to find the Dark Mark outside their home. When it happened, everyone well knew what to expect to see inside. Voldemort never left survivors. Men, women, children, the young, the old, the rich, the poor, the powerful, the unknown, he sent them all into the abyss. Then he used their bodies for his legions of inferi. Yes, he was Death's most faithful servant.

It worked beyond his wildest dreams. He thought his name would be spoken only in whispers, but soon it was not spoken at all. To his followers, he was "The Dark Lord". To all others, he became known as "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" or sometimes just "Him".

Just when he appeared unstoppable, a few misguided souls began a resistance movement called the Order of the Phoenix and began recruiting an army of its own. The Order grew slowly. The panic was such that few wanted to openly tempt the Dark Lord. The Order never posed a serious threat. It was more like an annoying fly buzzing around Voldemort's head: a fly that he longed to swat but couldn't manage to. So, he recruited a spy and waited for the proper moment to destroy it.

Then, a glimmer of hope went through the magical world. The granddaughter of a famed seer made a prophecy that a child would soon be born with the power to vanquish him. He decided he must find the child and kill it. Details about the child were few, but Voldemort was not concerned. He had once solved the mystery of his own parentage, after all; he was sure he could solve this mystery as well. Severus Snape, one of his most trusted servants, gave him more than enough information to find the child. First, the child would be born to parents who had thrice defied Lord Voldemort. There were precious few couples who fit that bill. Second, the child would be born as the seventh month died. His spy in the Order informed him that only two couples were expecting: Lily and James Potter and Frank and Alice Longbottom. As July blew out, Voldemort's spy informed him that both children had just been born.

The complication was a minor one. Killing two infants was no different to Voldemort than killing one. Both families went into hiding after their children were born, fearful that Voldemort would come calling. It was over a year later before he learned where both families were staying and set out to exterminate them on a Halloween night. He liked the symbolism of Halloween, and imagined the day going down in history as the day he completed his quest to become invincible. Hundreds of years from now, pure-blooded children at Hogwarts would celebrate his triumph and praise the name of the man who had rid the world of muggles.

He went for the Potters first. They had been a thorn in his side since their school days when he offered to let them join him, promising them places of honor amongst his Death Eaters, and they refused. Voldemort had coveted James in particular. In addition to being an accomplished magician who seemed to thwart Voldemort and the Death Eaters at every turn, the man had a certain _je ne sais quoi_, an inexplicable charisma that made people instantly like him and want to follow him, even into death. Better yet, he was completely unaware of it, which made it all the more pronounced. Voldemort had long since decided that James Potter must either join him or die, and now he had the means to see it through.

When he arrived at the Potter residence, he found only Lily and Harry, the baby. Voldemort had no intention of killing Lily: one of his servants was in love with her and had begged him not to, imagining himself swooping in to sweep her off her feet once James had been dispatched. Voldemort made it a point to reward his faithful, not because he cared for their happiness, but because he knew those small kindnesses could sometimes be the difference between love and hate, between loyalty and betrayal. In the end, however, Lily was determined to die in place of her child, and so Voldemort killed her. He was not concerned; he was sure his servant would find another woman, a better woman, a woman more worthy of his unique talents.

As Lily crumpled to the floor, Voldemort stared into the eyes of the baby. He was standing in his crib, looking at Voldemort with curious eyes when Voldemort put his wand in the toddler's face and uttered the spell that would sever his soul from his body.

After that, Voldemort knew only pain. He knew not what had happened, but somehow the spell had backfired and his own soul had been severed in place of the child's. Expecting to find himself unstoppable, Voldemort instead found himself inexplicably broken and defeated. Yet he felt accomplishment. He was still alive; his experiments had worked. He fled to a forest in Albania and waited for the right moment to make himself known. He did not even entertain the notion that he might never regain his former power. Instead, he existed with the single-minded focus of bending the future toward his will.

Patience had never been one of Voldemort's gifts. Yet he waited. Ten years later, Voldemort found his venue: a Hogwarts professor who was weak-minded enough to be easily manipulated. Voldemort possessed his body and traveled back to his homeland, determined to find the Philosopher's Stone and rise again. But he was foiled by the unlikeliest of people. Harry Potter, now a Hogworts first-year appeared just when Voldemort was on the brink of triumph and stole the Stone from under his nose, killing his servant in the process. Finding himself once more without a body, Voldemort returned to Albania, cursing the boy and vowing to someday finish what he started.

Then, something happened that he did not expect. One of his old servants found him and began to nurse him back to health. He and his servant returned to Britain, to the house where his filthy muggle father had lived and, at the point of Voldemort's wand, died. There, Voldemort would be free to plot and plan. There, Voldmort could mount his comeback and take his revenge. There, with the help of his servant, Voldemort created the strategy that would finally rid the world of Harry Potter.


	2. Pieces of a Puzzle

James Potter couldn't sleep. Insomnia had always been an occasional unwelcome guest in his home. His father had the same problem. When he was young, he would sometimes wander into the parlor when he couldn't sleep to find his father already there reading or listening to the wireless and smoking his pipe. When that happened, his father would read to him or they would play a game until sleep decided to visit them once more. Often, when he was very small, he would fall asleep in his father's lap, and his mother would find them in the morning, curled up together in an armchair, both fast asleep.

James looked at the wall clock; it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. At least it was Saturday, he reminded himself. He could have a lie-in and catch up on the sleep that was eluding him now. Often, his insomnia flared when he had too much on his mind. Now, however, that was not the case. There was nothing particularly worrisome or exciting happening in his life. If anything, he felt more relaxed than he had in quite some time. Only that evening, he and his thirteen-year-old son, Harry, had returned from a two-week-long holiday on the Riviera. He should have been exhausted, in truth, but his brain seemed to have decided it would not shut off.

James turned his attention to the bookshelves lining his library. He had read all of the books there, most of them more than once, but today he was searching for one of the few he had never really read: a potions book that he had been forced to buy in his sixth year at Hogwarts. It was dreadfully boring. Whenever he attempted to read it, he was asleep within two pages. It was just the thing he needed for a bad case of insomnia. He scanned the bookshelves looking for it, telling himself for the millionth time that he needed to organize his books.

James smiled to himself as though enjoying a private joke. When he was young, his father was quite strict about putting things in their place, and James was quite stubborn about refusing to do so. He remembered having to reshelve books in the library at Potter Manor as punishment for various youthful indiscretions. He promised himself that he would never grow into the sort of man who cared about things like an organized library.

Then, of course, he discovered the hard way that he could never find any of his books without some sort of organization. When he moved into this house, he and his best mates, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, had spent the better part of a week carefully organizing all his books into a discernible pattern. Within a month, they were once again in complete disarray. James somehow didn't have it in him to keep his bookshelves organized. He wondered briefly if he could ask one of the house elves to do it, but decided against it. He had never been the type of person to make his house elves do something he wasn't willing to do himself.

James finally found the book he was looking for and started back toward his room. He was nearly there when he heard a yell. He recognized it immediately as belonging to his son. James made his way quickly to Harry's room and found him sitting up in bed, rubbing his forehead.

James turned on the light. "Are you all right?" he asked Harry.

Harry turned his face toward James, squinting in the light. It was obvious he was in pain. James crossed the room and sat on Harry's bed.

"What happened?" he asked. "Does your head hurt?"

"I had a nightmare," Harry reported, still rubbing his forehead. "And my scar hurts."

James took Harry's hand gently and pulled it away from his head. The lightning-bolt-shaped scar on his forehead looked red and inflamed.

"Lie back," James ordered. Harry did as he was told. James went to the bathroom and made Harry a cold compress. He returned and placed it gently on his son's forehead.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," Harry replied.

"What was your dream about?" James inquired.

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't remember much about it. I was in a house somewhere. I don't know where, and a man was there, but I've never seen him before. He was talking to Voldemort. I never saw Voldemort, but I know it was him, and he had a wand. He said he was going to feed me to a snake. And a muggle was there, but they killed him. They just killed him, Dad, just like that. That was when I woke up, and my scar was hurting, but it usually only hurts when Voldemort's nearby. He couldn't be here in Derbyshire, could he?"

A ball of anxiety dropped into James's stomach. This was no ordinary dream; he was sure of it. He kept his silence for a moment, trying to think of any possible explanation.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "It seems unlikely, but there's no telling with him. How's your scar now?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Well, that's good, at least. And, you know, there is always the possibility that it was only a dream."

"It didn't feel like just a dream. It felt real, Dad," Harry replied. "I don't know how to explain it. It really felt like I was there."

James lay down next to Harry, his potions book forgotten at the foot of the bed. "Well, what would you like to dream about now?" James asked.

When Harry was small, he was plagued by frequent nightmares. When he had them, he would go crawl into bed with James. On those occasions, James would tell Harry to choose something he wanted to dream about and think of it while he was falling asleep. Then he would dream of that thing. James's father had told him the same thing when he was young and had bad dreams. As a child, he was always able to make it work. As an adult, it was much harder. Harry, however, reported that it still worked for him.

"I'm going to dream about quidditch," Harry announced. "What will you dream about?"

James thought for a moment. "I think I'll dream about being a pirate. Adventure on the high seas, beautiful women throwing themselves at my feet, searching for buried treasure, and always staying one step ahead of Her Majesty's Navy."

Harry smiled. "You always come up with the best ideas for dreams. I've changed my mind. I'm going to dream of being a pirate, too."

"You have the pirate dream, then," James offered. "And I'll dream about living in a tree house in the forest, and one day Robin Hood will find me, and I'll join his Merry Men. I'll spend all my days robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, with beautiful women throwing themselves at my feet, and always staying one step ahead of the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Isn't that the same dream, only in a forest instead of on the sea?"

"What can I say? It's a good dream. Wouldn't you like to have beautiful women throwing themselves at your feet?"

Harry laughed. "I could live with that."

"Only don't get too keen on the adventure part. I don't want you having any more of those," James said, mock sternness in his voice.

"I won't," Harry assured him. "You know me. I like the quiet life."

James laughed. Harry's life was generally anything but quiet, much to James's continued dismay. "Get some sleep," James ordered his son.

Harry fell into sleep quickly. As soon as his breathing took on the even tone of unconsciousness, James removed the cloth from his face. The scar no longer looked angry, and his face had lost all traces of pain. He looked young and peaceful. James hoped he really was dreaming about sailing. A thirteen-year-old should not have been having dreams about Lord Voldemort. Yet, Harry was not an ordinary thirteen-year-old. He had not been ordinary since that night when he was fifteen months old. The night Lord Voldemort murdered his mother before turning his wand on Harry.

Somehow, no one knew how, the spell rebounded and destroyed Voldemort instead, leaving Harry with only the scar on his forehead as a tragic souvenir. Now it appeared that Voldemort wished to finish the job. James ran his fingers through his hair several times, scratching his head and grimacing. He wasn't entirely sure what he ought to do with the information his son had just given him. He rose and left the room, switching off the light and closing the door closely behind him. He was suddenly full of jittery energy, the kind that demanded action. If Voldemort really was plotting at this moment to murder his son, how could he just sit here and do nothing?

James went to his own room and sat on his bed, reaching for a two-way mirror that he could use to call Sirius, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bother Sirius in the middle of the night. Sirius wouldn't mind, he was sure; he was Harry's godfather, after all, and loved the boy like a son. He would probably want to know about this. Still, James felt it was selfish to wake him. After all, James could tell himself it was for Harry until he was blue in the face, but it would still be because he, James, didn't want to be alone. He had no right to wake his friend just for a little bit of company. James sat there, stuck in indecision, lifting the mirror to call Sirius only to change his mind and return in to his nightstand once more. After he had lifted and replaced it three times, he decided to send an owl to Dumbledore instead.

James wrote a quick letter to Dumbledore and read it over three times to be sure it said what he wanted it to say, then he sent it along with his owl. Afterward, he decided that he didn't care if it made him the most selfish person in the world; he wanted to speak with his best mate. Reminding himself of all the times Sirius used to wake him up when they lived in the Hogwarts dormitory, James returned to his room, grabbed his two-way mirror, and began to call for Sirius.

When Sirius appeared, he had sheet imprints on his cheek, his black curls were standing up at odd angles, and he was squinting. "This better be important," he said irritably.

"Will you come over here, please?" James asked.

Sirius's countenance changed as he grew grave. "I'll be there in five minutes."

When he arrived, James handed him a cup of tea and filled him in on Harry's dream.

"What do you think it means?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know. I was hoping you might have some insights."

"I don't think it means Voldemort is nearby. That would be far too bold for him at this stage in the game. Remember how it was last time? He won't want to come out into the open until he's sure he can win."

"Those were my thoughts as well. But I think the dream is important. Do you think maybe... well... do you think it might have been a glimpse of what Voldemort's actually doing?"

"That doesn't seem possible. Harry's never shown any particular talent at legilimency."

"That wouldn't really be legilimency, though, would it?"

"Then what would it be?"

James shook his head desperately, as though trying to clear his thoughts. "I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't even have a good guess."

"Have you sent an owl to Dumbledore?"

"Of course. That was the first thing I did, after I got Harry back to sleep anyway."

"Maybe he'll have an idea, then," Sirius suggested with a shrug.

"Maybe." James sighed loudly. "We've only just recaptured Pettigrew, and now this."

Sirius gave his friend a sympathetic look, but he didn't know what to say to help. He decided to change the subject in an attempt to take James's mind off his worries. "How was France? You look like you got a tan."

"I did. Harry roasted, of course. He used almost a whole bottle of sun potion, and he still burned. Poor kid. He got Lily's complexion. Remember that day we went to the beach, and she forgot to put on sun potion?"

"She got so sunburned, she blistered. Then she spent the next week listening to the wireless standing up."

"She thought she might have got a decent tan out of it at least, but when it peeled off, she was still as white as ever. I think she took it personally. She got so mad at you because you didn't use any sun potion, either, and you just turned brown."

"I've always been that way. Just lucky, I guess. My father was the same way. But Reg and Mother, they had to be really careful."

"Did they burn?"

"No, freckle. I don't think Reg really cared one way or the other, bur Mother went to all sorts of trouble to stay out of the sun. I always thought it was sort of sad, really. We'd go to the seaside, and she'd spend the whole day huddled under an umbrella in a black dress. She always looked miserable, but she had her priorities, I suppose."

"Thanks for coming over here. I debated whether or not to call you at all."

"I'm glad you did. There's no sense in you brooding all alone. I'd do anything for Harry. You too, for that matter. You know that."

James smiled. "I never did understand what I had done to deserve such a good friend."

Sirius raised one eyebrow. "You're not going to get all sentimental on me, are you? I only started hanging around you for your mother's biscuits, you know."

"That's all right. I only hung around you because you were so good at getting me out of trouble. Do you remember the dragon?"

"Harry's dragon?"

"No, our dragon."

"I have no recollection of a dragon. I haven't any idea what you're on about. I was a perfectly behaved child who never would have sneaked out of school to find a dragon."

"No, of course not," James agreed, sipping his tea to hide his smile. When he and Sirius were in their third year at Hogwarts, they heard a rumor that there were dragons in the Forbidden Forest and set off on their broomsticks early one Saturday morning to find them. They planned to be back before anyone missed them, but got horribly lost flying over the forest. They ended up at the seaside. As it was a warm day, they decided to have a dip and lost track of time. Next thing they knew, it was late afternoon and they were starting to fear they'd starve to death before they made it back to Hogwarts. It was well after dark when they found their way back: exhausted, cold, and hungry.

"You know, to this day I swear I remember seeing smoke come out of McGonagall's nose. Everyone thinks I'm making it up, but I saw it," Sirius said.

"Oh, I believe you. I think I saw it, too," James agreed with a laugh.

When they returned to Hogwarts, they were hoping to sneak up to their dormitory, leaving no one any the wiser, but they were spotted before they ever made it onto the grounds. Their friend, Peter, got worried when they weren't back by nightfall and told McGonagall, their head of house, where they had gone. She had the whole staff out searching for them. Slughorn was the one who found them, and it was as stern as Sirius and James ever saw him. He marched them both across the grounds to where a very frantic McGonagall was organizing the search.

The second she saw them, she came running across the grounds, already shouting at them. When she got to them, Sirius, always the quick thinker, put on a terrified, shivery show. Then he started to cry crocodile tears and wrapped his arms around her. She looked as though she didn't know what to do. James stood back, letting Sirius work his magic. He wondered if a student had ever dared to hug McGonagall before. She was not exactly a cuddly woman. Rather than scolding, however, she awkwardly patted Sirius on the head and told him not to worry, that he was safe. Then she ushered them up to the hospital wing, where they spent a very pleasant evening eating their fill and recounting their adventure.

The next day was not nearly as pleasant, but they both preferred not to remember the look on James's dad's face when he arrived at Hogwarts. James had seen his dad that angry only once before, when he was nine and stole the man's broomstick. It was one of only a handful of times that he decided the joy of misbehaving had not been worth the punishment he received. Sirius, whose own father was cold and callous, had an inordinate amount of respect for his friend's father and was a mess at the thought of having disappointed him. It was one of only a few times that James ever saw him genuinely cry. He insisted ever afterward that he had been faking, but James knew him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

"You know, I always thought it was unfair, how angry Dad was over that. Nothing happened to us, and it wasn't our fault we got lost," James said.

"Oh, so you'd be fine with it if Harry did the same?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, I'd murder him if he tried it, but that's different."

"How's it different?"

"Because this time I'm the father, of course," James said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, right, how silly of me."

"Hullo, the sun's coming up," James said, looking out the window. "Would you care for some breakfast?"

"I believe I could eat."

"Me, too," Harry's voice drifted over from the staircase.

"Harry? What are you doing up so early?" James asked.

"I never did really get back to sleep after that dream," Harry informed him. "I think I slept some, but I kept waking up. Good morning, Sirius."

Sirius acknowledged him with a wink. "Morning, Pronglet."

"What would you two like for breakfast, then?" James asked.

"Bacon," Harry said.

"Eggs," Sirius added.

"Muffins," Harry continued.

"Toast," Sirius said, not to be outdone.

"Potatoes."

"Chicken."

"Spaghetti."

"Ice cream."

"Leg of lamb."

"Oh, that's a good one. Yes, let's have that. With mint jelly, if you please."

"If you two don't stop it, I'll serve you both gruel," James told them.

"Don't worry, Pronglet. He doesn't mean that, and if he really did try to serve us gruel, I would save you."

"Thanks, Sirius."

"Don't worry about it. But you should consider yourself lucky. It's not just anyone I would save from a grueling fate."

Harry nodded with mock gravity. "Yes, saving a person from gruel is tricky. Takes real talent."

"And don't you forget it."

"All right, you two," James cut in. "What would you really like for breakfast?"

"We already told you," Sirius said, trying and failing to suppress his smile. "Spaghetti, ice cream, and leg of lamb. Which part of that was unclear?"

"I'm not going to serve you leg of lamb for breakfast. I haven't even got any," James said, laughing.

Sirius turned to Harry, shaking his head with exasperation. "Do you believe this man, Harry? Asks us what we want for breakfast and then claims he hasn't got any."

"Pitiful," Harry agreed. "Dreadful manners. Honestly."

James tried not to laugh, but failed miserably. He usually did when Sirius got going. "Fine, let's go out, then. See what a restaurant says when you try to order leg of lamb at seven o' clock in the morning."

"That sounds like a plan," Sirius said. "I'll treat."

"Oh, no you won't," James retorted. "I owe you. I woke you up in the middle of the night after all."

"Yes, but then you gave me tea. That more than makes up for it."

"Fine. Let's put it to a vote. Who here thinks I should treat?" James said, raising his hand.

"Only one. Isn't looking too good for you," Sirius said. "Who thinks I should treat?" Sirius raised his hand.

"Damn, a tie. Let's vote again," James suggested.

"Okay, but you're going down this time, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes and went upstairs to wash and change. He knew from experience that this could go on for quite some time.


	3. Grimmauld Place

"Where is that blasted thing?" James asked to no one in particular. "I know I put it down here." He was rooting around in his cellar, searching for a tent to take to the Quidditch World Cup.

On Harry's birthday, James had thrown him a large party to celebrate the achievement of turning fourteen. After all the presents were opened, he presented Harry with a small envelope with the World Cup tickets inside. Harry was so excited that James thought for a moment he might explode, especially after he was informed that the Weasleys were going as well, and that James had even managed to wrangle up a ticket for Hermione.

The World Cup was now less than a week away, and James, with help from Harry, Sirius, and Remus, had already searched the attic and every closet with no success. The last time he had used it was the last time he took Harry camping, the summer he turned ten, yet he was sure he had seen it somewhere recently. He just couldn't remember where.

"Oi! I've just had a thought," Sirius said, taking his head out of the washing machine. "Two thoughts, actually."

"Two whole thoughts," Remus said approvingly. "Rather a red letter day for you, isn't it?"

"Did you rub them together and make a fire?" James asked.

Sirius laughed. "No, but I did dress them up and make them do a tap dance. You should have seen it. It was amazing. Would you like me to show you?"

James quickly answered, "No, that's quite all right".

"It must be very frightening to be in your head," Remus said.

"You wouldn't last ten minutes in here," Sirius informed him. "Anyway, I think we moved the tent to Grimmauld Place."

"Oh, right. I remember that now. It's in the attic, isn't it?"

"That's where we put it. Whether or not it's still there is anyone's guess."

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

"I couldn't bear to sack my mother's house elf, and he has an odd habit of spiriting things away. He was a nightmare when we were trying to clean the place out. He kept sneaking things out of the rubbish bin and taking them to his den."

"His den?"

"That's what I always called it. It's actually a little room off the kitchen, but he never kept it up. I bought him a little bed when he came to me, but he refused to sleep in it. He has a little nest on the floor that he prefers."

"He's a very odd elf," James agreed.

"He always was. For as long as I can remember. Can't think why. Working for my parents must have been a dream. They were so lovely and all."

No one said anything to that. Harry had heard very few stories from Sirius's childhood, but he knew from the few he had heard that Sirius's parents were anything but lovely.

"Did they abuse him?" Harry asked, fearing the answer. He was fond of the Potters' own house elves, and hated to think of anyone mistreating them.

"No, they usually saved that for Regulus and me. The house elves did whatever my parents wanted, so there was really no reason to be harsh with them. They did cut their heads off when they outlived their usefulness, though. Mounted them on the wall going up the staircase, like they were decorations. I think Kreacher was disappointed when he outlived my mother. Being mounted on the staircase was his greatest dream. I've warned him a few times that it could be arranged, but he never seems to believe me. Luckily, I was able to get a new house elf, and she manages to keep him in line for the most part. He still gets away from her sometimes, though."

"Well, shall we go see what we can find?" Remus asked.

"Wait a moment, what was your second thought?" Harry asked.

"Hmm?" Sirius responded.

"You said you had two thoughts. What was the second?"

"Oh, that. I think I've just had a breakthrough in calculating the orbit of comets. I'll explain it to you, if you like."

"No, thank you," Harry said before Sirius had even finished the sentence.

"Oh, come on, Pronglet. I could end up with a theorem named after me, and then think how you'd feel having to tell your grandchildren that you knew the great Sirius Black and were there when he came up with his brilliant theorem, and you missed the opportunity to have it explained to you straight from the horse's mouth."

"I think I'll risk it," Harry said gravely.

"I wise choice, Harry. When he gets going, he can be worse than Percy Weasley."

"Now that was just uncalled-for," Sirius said, but he was smiling. "All right, to Grimmauld Place we go." Sirius turned on the spot and disappeared with a loud pop. Remus did the same.

"May I come, too?" Harry asked James. "I've never been to Grimmauld Place."

"I see no reason why not. Come on upstairs. We can use the floo."

A few moments later, Harry stepped out of the floo into a low kitchen. An unpleasant-looking house elf looked up at him. The elf looked momentarily surprised, but then bowed low.

"Master's friends are welcome here," the house elf said. Then, softly, he added, "Master broke his mother's heart, befriending blood traitors and mudbloods."

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"Master's friends are welcome here," the elf repeated as James stepped through the floo.

"Hello, Kreacher," he said.

"Blood traitors and sons of blood traitors, besmirching the House of Black, stealing my Mistress's things," Kreacher muttered.

Harry's temper rose. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when James said, "Come on, Harry. Let's go help Sirius." Harry followed James into a brightly lit hallway.

"Does he know we can hear him?" Harry asked when Kreacher was out of earshot.

James stopped walking and turned to face Harry. "We haven't decided yet. Sirius thinks he does. I'm not so sure. Sirius's parents really did a number on him. I doubt he's known very much kindness. I think Sirius could turn him around if he tried, but he doesn't want to try, and I can't completely say I blame him. Kreacher tormented him quite a bit when he was younger."

"How?"

James's face took on a rare tone of sadness. "He used to set Sirius up to get into trouble. He apparently got very good at figuring out how to lie without actually lying. He'd do things like tell Sirius that his mother wanted something done, and make Sirius believe she wanted him to do it when she didn't. So, Sirius would go and do it, trying to please her, and then Kreacher would deny he'd ever told Sirius to do it, because technically, he hadn't. He'd only implied it. And Mrs. Black always believed Kreacher over Sirius because she knew that house elves can't lie to their masters. Once, when Sirius was seven, Kreacher told Sirius that his mother wanted him to wash all the china, so Sirius pulled it all out of the cabinet and was just about to start scrubbing it when his mother came in and asked him what he was doing. He told her, and she didn't believe him. She thought he was playing with it, and accused him of lying. His father beat him so badly he couldn't walk for three days."

"He was seven?" Harry asked, wincing. When Harry was seven, he thought having to sit in the corner was the end of the world. He couldn't imagine how awful that must have been for Sirius.

"Seven," James said, shaking his head. " I wanted to come over here and kick Kreacher myself when I heard that story, and you know how I feel about cruelty toward house elves."

Harry nodded knowingly. James was adamant that house elves were only to be treated with the utmost kindness and respect. He caught Harry trying to order one to steal ice cream for him when he was eight, and very nearly gave Harry a spanking for it. In the end, he changed his mind and decreed that Harry couldn't have any sweets for a week, although he did promise Harry a spanking if he ever misused a house elf again, and Harry never had.

"I didn't know house elves could do that," Harry commented. "I thought they had to look after their masters"

"Kreacher never felt any real loyalty to Sirius. Mrs. Black was the only person he ever much cared for, although Sirius says he grew rather fond of Regulus. He was probably picking up on Mrs. Black's preferences. She valued Sirius because he was the oldest and the heir, and that meant something to her, but she always favored Regulus. I even heard her say a few times that she wished they only had Regulus."

"That's awful," Harry said, shaking his head. He couldn't imagine anyone not liking Sirius.

"She was pretty awful. I used to be a little afraid of her, actually, although I only met her a few times. I used to come round here summer after out first year, but then there was an... incident, and my parents wouldn't let me come back."

"What happened?"

"I think I'll keep that to myself," James said. "It worked out well, though, because Sirius started spending nearly all of the hols with us after that, which I thought was the best thing ever. Well, shall we go help them search?"

Harry followed James up the stairs, looking around him curiously as he went. He had heard that the house was once grimy and full of dark objects, but the Marauders cleaned it out after Mrs. Black died. Now it was clean, bright, and cheerful, though Sirius still hated it. Only two things escaped the cleaning spree unscathed: Regulus's room was one of them. A large tapestry depicting the Black family tree was the other. Sirius came a few times a year to check on things, but mostly relegated the care of the house to his elves.

Sirius and Remus met James and Harry on the first landing. "Found it," Sirius announced, brandishing the tent. He went to the top of the stairs and tossed it down, breaking a vase on a pedestal at the bottom. "Oh, what a shame," he said, sounding as though he truly regretted it. "That was my grandmother's vase."

"Too bad," Harry said sympathetically.

"Oh, I'm not too worried," Sirius said with a wink. "I always hated that vase. And besides, this isn't the first time I've broken it." He bounded down the stairs and fixed the vase with _reparo_.

"You keep doing that, and one of these days it's not going to go back," Remus warned.

"He breaks that vase every time he walks by it," James explained to Harry in an undertone.

Sirius shrugged. "I'll risk it," he said. He tossed the repaired vase into the air and caught it by the rim before returning it to its place on the pedestal and turning to Harry. "Since you're here, would you like the grand tour?"

"Sure," Harry said, smiling.

Sirius showed them around the first floor. Harry was fascinated by the Black Family tapestry. He thought he could have spent hours looking at it. "Where are you?" Harry asked Sirius.

Sirius pointed to a large burn mark. Beneath it, the words "Sirius Black, 1959-" were just legible.

"My mother burnt me off and disowned me after I moved in with your grandparents. She more or less burnt off all the decent people, actually." Sirius pointed to another burn mark. "This was her brother, Alphard. He got burnt off after he died and left me everything he owned in his will." He pointed to another burn mark. "This is my cousin, Andromeda. Sweet woman. She got burnt off for marrying a muggle. Her sister, Bellatrix-" Sirius pointed to a picture of a beautiful but haughty-looking woman, "is serving a life sentence in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. You'll notice she's not burnt off for that, which should give you some idea of what my mother's ideas were."

"Were your parents Death Eaters?" Harry asked.

"No, but they supported what Voldemort was doing. They thought he had the right idea, getting rid of the muggle-borns. I was already gone by the time Reg joined up, but I'm sure they were very proud of him."

Harry studied the tapestry and said nothing. Sirius's brother was a touchy subject.

"Hey!" Harry said suddenly. "There's a Potter on here."

"That was my dad's brother, Charles," James said.

"It says 'Charlus'," Harry said, moving closer to the name of his Great Uncle.

"It was a mistake," Sirius explained. "My grandmother was the one who put that one on, and she was half blind by then. My mother had to do quite a bit of repair work on the people my grandmother added to the tapestry, but she never bothered to fix poor Charles. The Blacks weren't thrilled about Dorea marrying into the Potters. They weren't as bad as the Weasleys, mind you." Sirius pointed to yet another burn mark. "That's what got her burnt off. But it wasn't considered an ideal marriage for someone of such a high station."

"What's wrong with the Potters?" Harry asked indignantly.

"We're blood traitors," James said with a shrug, coming over to look at his uncle's name.

"You have to understand, Harry," Sirius said, almost desperately. "My parents thought being a Black practically made you royalty. We're one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. Keeping the good name of the family was always one of my mother's highest priorities. She would rather have pretended people didn't exist than admit that a Black could err."

"Do you mind if I fix this?" James asked quietly.

"I don't care," Sirius said bitterly.

Harry thought his heart would break looking at the sadness on Sirius's face. He took the few steps to where Sirius stood and wrapped his arms around his godfather. He was sure fourteen was too old for such a thing, but he didn't care. He only wanted to make Sirius feel better. He couldn't do much to ease his godfather's pain, but he could at least do this. "I love you," he told Sirius.

Sirius squeezed him and laid his cheek on top of Harry's head. "Thanks, Pronglet. I love you, too."

Harry watched as James said a silent spell. The "u" in "Charlus" morphed itself into an "e". According to the tapestry, Charles Potter had married a Dorea Black, and a line from their union said simply, "one son".

"Why isn't their son named?" Harry asked.

Sirius lifted his head, but didn't let Harry go. "Probably because my mother didn't think it worth her effort," he explained.

James pointed his wand at the tapestry and said another silent spell. The words "one son" began to ripple and change until it read, "Andrew Potter, 1945-1954". Above the name a picture of a boy with brown hair and hazel eyes appeared. James nodded approvingly at his work. "I think I did him justice. I can't really be sure, of course. He died before I was born, but I've seen photographs."

"What happened to him?" Harry asked.

"When he was nine years old, he stole his father's broomstick one day and went out flying. He fell off and was killed not ten yards from his own front door. Uncle Charles was devastated. My dad said he was never the same after that. I really didn't know him that well. He had a very pronounced case of wanderlust. He and Aunt Dorea lived all over the world, but they could never bear to be in England for long. Dad said it was because they were running from the memories.

"They would show up every few years or so with great gifts and lots of stories, but they never stayed long. I used to love their visits. Then Dorea died when I was seventeen, and Charles moved to the Yukon. We never saw him again, although we got letters from time to time. They grew increasingly odd the older he got. The last one I got was when you were about three, and he said he'd married again. I sent him several letters asking him to come visit, but my owl always came back with the letter unopened, so I've no idea what he's doing now, or if he's even still alive."

"Would you like to see the rest of the house?" Sirius asked, and Harry nodded. "Only you'll want to stay out of the attic. There's an old portrait of my mother up there, and she wasn't terribly happy to see me. I'll introduce you to her someday, but I'm not quite up for dealing with her twice in one day."

Harry nodded his understanding, and followed as Sirius showed him the rest of the house.

* * *

That evening, James, Remus, Sirius, and Harry sat at the dining room table playing wizard's chess. Going to Grimmauld place had left Sirius with a pronounced case of melancholy. When he got up to go to the loo, Remus told them in a whisper that his mother's portrait had been particularly brutal to him, even worse than usual. James, Harry, and Remus were trying everything they could to get him to laugh, but nothing seemed to be working. He had spent most of the evening reminiscing about his childhood, and was now absently playing chess with Remus, too distracted to even care when he lost. Meanwhile, Harry and James were in the middle of their second game. In the first, Harry won in a surprise move by sacrificing his queen, and James, who had never before lost to his son unintentionally, demanded a rematch.

"Checkmate," Harry announced, not even attempting to suppress his smile.

"What?" James asked. "That's not possible. Wait a moment." His eyes flicked around the board as he tried to find a way to rescue his king. Finally, he picked it up and moved it to the opposite end of the board. "There," James announced. "He's safe."

"You can't move him there. That's cheating!" Harry said.

"You would dare to accuse your own father of cheating?" James asked with mock indignation.

"I call them like I see them."

The corners of James's mouth turned down as he tried to suppress his smile. "You should know better than to speak to your elders like that, young man." He turned to Sirius and Remus. "Kids these days have no respect. Honestly. I'm going to have to turn him into a periwinkle duck."

"Maybe I should turn you into a topaz snail," Harry retorted. "You're the one trying to cheat your own son.

"A topaz snail," Sirius said. "Now that's good."

"What about my periwinkle duck?" James asked.

Sirius gave a small smile. "That's just silly, mate."

James turned to Harry, feigning offense. "Can you believe him?"

"He's right, you know," Harry agreed. "A periwinkle duck is silly."

"Such cheek," James said, not even bothering to hide his smile. "You know, you're not too old for a spanking."

"Maybe not," Harry conceded. "But you're far too old to give me one."

Sirius's snort of laughter was a welcome sound to everyone.

"I'm only thirty-four!" James objected.

"Exactly. You're ancient."

"You're in trouble now, little boy."

"Bring it, old man."

James stood up and pretended to spit in both his hands before coming around the table. Harry mouthed "uh-oh" as he hopped up and tried to run while Remus and Sirius discussed who should cheer for whom.

"My money's on James," Remus whispered.

"I don't know. Harry's stronger than he looks," Sirius countered.

James tackled Harry in the parlor and pinned him down, gently smacking at his backside.

"Say 'uncle'," he told a struggling Harry.

"Never!" Harry insisted, laughing. But after a few moments, he realized he was trapped and said, "uncle".

James stood up immediately, laughing himself. "And let that be a lesson to you."

He gave Harry a hand up, which Harry took, only to pull James back down to the ground. Sirius laughed loudly at that, cheering, "You get him, Pronglet!" which spurred Harry and James on.

"Oh, you want to play dirty, do you?" James asked, moving quickly to pin Harry again. He immediately began tickling him.

"Not fair," Harry protested, struggling to get away in between laughing hysterically and trying to catch his breath. "Okay, I give up," he gasped out after a few moments of tickling. "Uncle."

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"Uncle!" Harry shouted through peals of laughter.

"That's what I thought you said," James said. He tickled for another second before letting Harry go and standing up.

"Hey, aren't you going to help me up?" Harry asked as James returned to the dining room.

"No way, kid. Last time I tried to help you, you pulled me down."

"That's harsh, Dad," Harry said, rising and dusting off his robes.

"Fool me twice, shame on me," James retorted. "Now get over here and let me beat you so I can clear my good name already."

Harry came obediently and joined in a third game, which he won.

"How are you doing that?" James asked.

Harry shrugged. "I guess all your lessons over the years have finally paid off."

"Finally, I get some respect!" James exclaimed.

"Or maybe you're just losing your touch," Harry said with a grin.

James narrowed his eyes at his son. "Don't make me come over there and tickle you again."

"You two are very lucky," Sirius said suddenly, smiling sadly at them.

"We know," Harry and James answered in unison.

"Good," Sirius replied softly. Then, louder, "good."


	4. Friends and Frustrations

"But, Dad, why can't I come?" Harry asked for the seventeenth time that morning. He was sitting on James's bed watching James get ready to go to work. At the moment, James was at his mirror waging a glorious battle with his hair in an attempt to make it lie flat. As always, the hair was winning.

James turned away from the mirror, slowly lowered his comb, and fixed his son with a stern look. "Because you don't need to be there."

"I do so. I have just as much reason to go as you do."

James closed his eyes as though praying for patience. He wondered if he used to frustrate his parents this much. "What if they decide to have him kissed? I don't want you witnessing something like that."

"But you're not going to let him be kissed," Harry argued.

"I'm not a miracle worker, you know. If the wizengamot sentences him to be kissed, there's not going to be anything I can do about it. And they'll have it done right there in the courtroom. I'm telling you, you don't need to be there for that. You should go get ready. The Weasleys are expecting you." James turned back to the mirror and recommenced his battle with his hair.

"I'm fourteen. I can stay by myself," Harry muttered under his breath.

"I know that, but you'll have a much more enjoyable day with the Weasleys than you would cooped up here by yourself. Bill and Charlie are home for the World Cup. You haven't seen them in ages."

"I'll see them later. I want to come with you."

James turned back to him. "Well, you can't come with me. And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop arguing with everything I say."

"That's not fair!" Harry insisted. "How am I supposed to change your mind if I can't argue with you?"

"You're not going to change my mind, Harry. Now, go get dressed."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared defiantly at James.

"Now!" James ordered, pointing at the open door.

"Fine," Harry said, throwing himself off the bed and stomping out of the room, muttering all the while about being treated like a child. James sighed. Harry was normally a very easy boy, but he certainly had it in him to be a nightmare if the mood struck him, which it seemed to be doing more and more lately.

James tossed his comb on the dresser. It was a losing battle anyway. He didn't recall feeling this anxious over Peter Pettigrew's first trial. Of course, the first time, the dementor's kiss had not been on the table, although James might not have cared if it had been. He didn't care about much of anything back then. Maybe that was why he couldn't remember feeling anxious. He was so devastated there wasn't much space for any other emotion. Even now, the days and weeks following Lily's death were fuzzy in his memory, like a dream he had had long ago. He remembered snatches of things, but mostly he recalled only the crushing weight of grief.

Peter's trial was one of the few things that happened to him during that awful time that he could remember clearly. He was already bracing himself for Peter to do as he had done before and plead with James for mercy, as though interceding on his behalf with Barty Crouch and insisting he had a fair trial before being chucked to the dementors weren't already merciful enough. James sat on his bed and sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

There were days when he hated his job, days when it all seemed futile. The line of dark wizards was never-ending. Sometimes it seemed that the moment he caught one, ten more stepped forward to take his place. Normally he loved being an auror, loved the feeling that he was doing something to make the world a better place. But lately he had been feeling stretched thin. He had hoped going to France with Harry would solve the problem, and it had - temporarily. But now the fatigue was back.

He told himself that he would feel better once the trial was over. It had been weighing heavily on his mind the past several weeks. As much as he hated Pettigrew, he wouldn't wish a dementor's kiss on anyone, and he couldn't bear the thought of having to go to the Burrow tonight and tell Harry that he had failed. Harry was so idealistic, and had so much faith in James's ability to ensure justice was done. James didn't want to let him down, even if he was being a colossal brat at the moment.

As though Harry could sense that James was having an affectionate thought toward him, he stomped back into the room at precisely that moment, still in his pajamas. "And another thing. I'm the one he kidnapped. I have a right to be there."

"Harry, would you just stop it? You're not going, and that's final. I don't want to risk you seeing the dementor's kiss."

"I'm fourteen. I'm old enough to handle it."

"Harry, I'm not old enough to handle it!" James snapped. "I've seen a person kissed exactly once, and I still have nightmares about it."

"Hello," Sirius called from downstairs. "James? Are you ready?"

Harry shot James a triumphant look. "Let's see what Sirius thinks," he said, running from the room.

"No! Harry!" James shouted, running after his son. He was quite sure Sirius wouldn't undermine him once he knew that Harry had already been told 'no', but there was no telling how much damage he might do before he found out that the matter had already been decided. His ideas about what Harry ought to be allowed to do were decidedly different from James's own, although James suspected that those ideas would change were he ever to become a father himself.

"Sirius!" Harry bellowed as he ran down the stairs. "Don't you think I should be allowed to go to the trial?"

"I've already told him he can't," James yelled after him, bounding down the stairs himself.

When James arrived in the parlor, Harry was standing in front of Sirius with an expectant look on his face. Sirius looked like he didn't quite know what had hit him.

"Well?" Harry demanded. "What do you think?"

James was working to keep his temper in check. "It doesn't matter what he thinks. I said no, and if you don't go upstairs and get dressed right now, I'm going to send you to the Burrow in your pajamas."

"I want to go to the trial. Sirius, tell him I'm old enough to go to the trial."

Sirius looked back and forth between them for a moment. "I think you should do what your dad says. He doesn't look like he's joking about that whole pajamas thing."

"This isn't fair!" Harry exploded. "I'm fourteen!"

"You keep saying that," James shouted. "But you're certainly not acting like it. You're acting like you're five!"

"You're treating me like I'm five!"

"No, I'm not! If you were five, I would have put you in the corner by now."

Harry let out a raw-throated yell of frustration. Without warning, he rounded on Sirius. "Why do you always side with him?"

"It's a conspiracy," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "All the adults in the world are in on it. We spend all our spare time trying to think of ways to make teenagers miserable. And while we're on the subject, did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to be pulled into your quarrels? Now, I would suggest you go do what your father says before I decide I've had enough of this and hex you."

Harry looked back and forth between them, so angry that he appeared not to be able to form words. He kept opening his mouth as though he were going to say something, but only huffed instead. Finally, he turned and stomped up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door with so much force the walls shook.

James pursed his lips and closed his eyes tightly as he bit back all the awful things he wanted to say about his son.

"Lovely child you've raised, Prongs," Sirius said.

"You want him?"

"No, thank you," Sirius said with a small laugh. "I'd probably kill him. But just think. It could have been worse. He could have been twins, and Harry could have been the sweet one."

"Now there's a chilling thought."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?"

James shook his head. "I was so happy when he learned to talk." James flopped down on the sofa. "Sometimes he's so good, I can hardly believe it. The other day at Grimmauld Place, he was brilliant. I was so proud of him when he was trying to cheer you up that I thought I was going to spontaneously combust."

"Now, that would be worth seeing," Sirius said, flopping onto the sofa next to him. "Except for the whole you being dead thing. I don't think I'd handle that part very well. You are planning to outlive me, right?"

"Oh, no, no. I'd be beside myself if something happened to you. You have to outlive me."

"Maybe we should promise to outlive each other. That way, neither of us can ever die."

"A foolproof plan," James agreed. "We're just lucky Voldemort never thought of it. Shall we shake on it?"

James and Sirius shook hands just as Harry came stomping back down the stairs, fully dressed.

"Can I please go?" he asked.

"No!" James shouted.

Harry huffed loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm not going to the Burrow. I'm staying here by myself."

James stood up and crossed to where Harry stood. "Excuse me?" he asked. "You are on thin ice, Harry James, and unless you want to be grounded, I'd suggest you watch your attitude."

"You should watch your attitude," Harry shot back. James's eyes went wide with a combination of shock and fury. He felt a sudden urge to slap Harry's face. It was an urge he had felt only once before, and he quickly put his hands behind his back to keep from doing it. He was just opening his mouth to pronounce his son's sentence when the boy suddenly went rigid and fell forward. James caught him deftly. Behind him, Sirius was still pointing his wand at where Harry had been standing a moment before.

"I warned him I'd hex him," Sirius said casually. "Why doesn't anyone ever believe me about these things? It shouldn't be too hard to get him to the Burrow now. See what Molly makes of his attitude. I doubt very seriously she'll be as patient with it as you are."

"Lift the spell, Sirius," James said, struggling under Harry's dead weight.

"Not until he promises to behave himself," Sirius said, rising and stepping forward to help James.

"How's he supposed to promise that when you've got him in a full body bind?"

"He can still blink." Sirius turned Harry around to face him. His eyes were shooting daggers, but Sirius seemed unimpressed. "Blink once for yes. Twice for no. If I lift the spell, will you behave?"

Harry blinked once, and Sirius lifted the spell.

"You hexed me!" he accused the second he was free.

"I warned you I would. It's your own fault for not listening. Now get through the floo, and you had better behave yourself while you're at the Burrow or I won't give you a chance to get out of it next time."

Chastened, Harry obeyed. Taking a handful of floo powder, he tossed it into the fire, shouted, "The Burrow," and stepped in.

The second he was gone, James turned to Sirius, raking his fingers through his hair. "I've got to figure out some way to rein in that mouth."

"He seems to respond well to full body binds," Sirius said cheerfully.

James smiled. "He does, but that's not terribly practical."

"You could also try shooting stinging hexes at his backside," Sirius suggested

"I thought you were against corporal punishment."

"I'm against smacking. I'm a little less opinionated on the subject of stinging hexes. Of course, I might feel differently about it if I though you'd actually do it."

"Well, I've been thinking it's about time to reorganize the library. And I think Harry would be good at it."

"That's just cruel and unusual punishment."

"My dad used to do it to me," James said with a shrug. "I should get to the Burrow and make sure he's not terrorizing Molly."

"I think Molly can handle him, mate. She raised the twins, remember?"

"That's true, but I'm still going to check," he said, making his way to the floo. When he arrived at the Burrow, Molly was in the parlor.

"Did Harry make it over here okay?" James asked.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I was waiting for him. Told him good morning. Asked him if he'd had breakfast, then he informed me that he's fourteen and stomped up to Ron's room. When he realized Ron wasn't up there, he stomped back down, and now he's in the kitchen eating oatmeal."

James pursed his lips. "He's angry I'm not letting him go to the trial. He's in a bit of a mood."

"I am not in a mood!" Harry shouted from the kitchen.

James and Molly shared a knowing look. "As I was saying, he's not in a mood. He usually calms down pretty quickly when he's not in a mood like this. But if he gives you any trouble, you have my permission to throttle him." James raised his voice. "Did you hear that, Harry?"

"I'm not speaking to you," Harry shouted.

"Well, that's a relief," James said.

"I heard that!" Harry shouted.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me," James shouted back.

There was no answer for a moment, then Harry shouted, "Starting now."

Molly suppressed a smile. "We'll be fine. I've dealt with a few teenage mood swings in my day. Good luck at the trial."

"Thanks," he said, stepping toward the floo. He raised his voice again. "Harry, you had better behave yourself for Mrs. Weasley."

James stepped into the floo, telling himself over and over again that it was silly to be hurt that his fourteen-year-old wasn't speaking to him. Still, he was.

By the time he returned to the Burrow that evening, he was exhausted. He smelled wonderful things cooking, and made his way to the kitchen.

"Hello," Molly said, turning toward him. As soon as she saw him, her face fell. "He was kissed, wasn't he?"

"Am I that transparent?" James asked.

"It's not a bad thing to show that you're upset about something like that," she said soothingly.

"How bad do I look?"

"Like you've just lost a dear friend."

James sighed and sat at the table. "In a way, I suppose I have. He was a very dear friend once. And no matter what he may have done to me, I never would have wished this on him. And I know Harry's going to be disappointed in me. He was so sure I'd be able to stop it." James shook his head, wondering how it was that Molly always managed to put people at ease so quickly. He would open up to her about things he never would have dreamed of saying to anyone else, even Sirius. "I feel like the world's biggest failure."

Molly sat across from him and put her hand over his. "You're not a failure, James. You fought to get him a fair trial. That's more than most people would have done."

"It didn't do any good," James muttered bitterly.

"It did plenty of good. You single-handedly reminded Fudge that he has a responsibility to the law, and you showed your son, and mine, that there's honor in mercy. There's no higher good you could have done than that."

"I suppose I never thought of it like that."

Molly patted his hand. "You shouldn't blame yourself. You did everything you could."

James nodded. "Thanks, Molly. Where's Harry?"

"They're all outside playing quidditch. They even managed to talk Arthur into playing so the teams would be even. They've been at it most of the day."

"Did he behave himself?" James asked, almost fearing the answer.

"He was fine. He calmed down pretty quickly after you left, just as you said he would. He asked me this afternoon if I thought you'd be cross with him."

"Did you tell him I'd be furious and probably give him to Snape to raise?" James asked.

"No," she replied. "I told him I was quite sure you'd forgive him."

"That was probably best. He knows me too well to believe I'd give him to Snape anyway. Well, I should probably go talk to him."

"Probably," she agreed. He stood and strode to the door. Just as he was about to step out, she called him back. "Would you like to stay for dinner tonight?"

"I wouldn't want to impose," James told her.

"It's no trouble. I've got plenty, and you could probably use some company right now."

"Well, then, I'd love to. Thank you."

"We'll have to eat outside," she explained. "With this many, we'll never fit in here."

"I love to eat outside. Do you need any help with anything?"

"Not at the moment, and if I do, I'll have the kids do it. You go ahead and talk to Harry."

James made his way outside. As promised, a game of quidditch was going on. It only took him a moment to realize Harry wasn't playing. He searched the yard and located Harry sitting shoulder to shoulder with Ginny under a tree, laughing. He appeared to be teaching her how to whistle on a blade of grass, and from the looks of things, she wasn't having much success. James had grown used to the idea of Harry and Ginny over the past two months. He stood by the door watching them for long moments, remembering how beautiful and perfect young love had felt to him. He cared for his girlfriend, Bronwyn, very deeply, but there was nothing like that first love.

Harry looked up, laughing, and saw James. His smile faded. He said something to Ginny and stood, jogging across the yard toward James. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Not well, I'm afraid," James said. "The vote was nearly unanimous. Amelia Bones and Dumbledore were the only ones who voted against the kiss."

Harry hugged him. "I'm sorry, Dad."

James wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed the top of his head. "Me, too," he said with a sigh.

Harry let go and looked James in the face. "And I'm sorry about this morning."

James nodded. "I appreciate your apology, and we'll talk about it later."

"Are you going to punish me?" Harry asked, dropping his gaze. He kicked at a clump of grass with his toe.

"We'll talk about that later, too," James said. "Mrs. Weasley's invited us to stay for dinner."

Harry brought his head up. "I'd rather know now," he said.

"Fine," James said, seating himself on the porch steps. He patted the step next to him, and Harry sat down. "Listen, Harry, I know that you were upset this morning, and I can understand why you were. Honestly, I can, but there's no excuse for speaking to me like that. I am your father, and I deserve to be treated with respect. I don't make rules for you willy-nilly. There's always a reason behind my decisions. Always. It's very difficult for me to tell you 'no', especially when there's something I know you really want to do. You don't have to make it harder on me."

Harry deflated more and more as James spoke. "I'm really sorry," he said. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been beating myself up all day. Well, most of the day. I was still angry for a little while after you left, but then I just started feeling guilty. I think I liked angry better."

"Yes, guilt is a nasty little emotion," James agreed. He was feeling quite a bit of it himself at the moment, but he didn't see any reason for Harry to know that.

"So, what are you going to do to me?" Harry asked.

"You're going to organize the library. That should give you plenty of time to think."

Harry groaned, but he didn't argue. "How long do I have to do that for?"

"Until you're finished or you go back to school, whichever comes first."

Harry sighed loudly just as Molly stepped out and called everyone to help prepare the tables for dinner.

"I love you, you know," James said, throwing and arm around Harry.

Harry dropped his head onto James's shoulder. "I know. I love you, too."

"Come on, let's go help with dinner. I'm half-starved, and I don't think I've ever met anyone who was a better cook than Molly." James stood and gave Harry a hand up, then joined the crowd filing in to help with the preparations.


	5. Camping Companions

The laughter echoed through the garden at the Burrow.

"You turned him into a dog?" George asked Harry.

"Half a dog," James corrected.

"So, I'm sitting on the swing wondering if I can just move to Australia when Dad comes up to me, and he says," Harry deepened his voice in an imitation of his father, "'For the record, you shouldn't keep a wand in your back pocket. Wizards have been known to lose a buttock that way'." Two Potters and eight Weasleys screamed with laughter. Only Percy kept a straight face.

"Who do you know who's lost a buttock?" Bill asked when he managed to catch his breath.

"Hey, I never thought of that," Harry said. "Who _do_ you know who's lost a buttock?"

"I'll never tell," James said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Was it you?" Fred asked.

"No, of course not. I'm brighter than that."

"Was it Professor Black?" George asked.

"Wrong again, although I'll be sure to let him know you asked after him."

"Come on, tell us," Ron said. "We're going to keep hassling you until you do."

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you. But if any of you ever repeats this to a living soul, I will hunt you down."

Harry and the four youngest Weasleys all nodded gravely, leaning in to hear the secret.

"It was Mad-Eye Moody," James confided. "I was there when it happened, and he was furious, let me tell you. I heard words come out of that man's mouth that I've never heard before or since. For a moment, we were afraid he'd been possessed and was speaking some demon language, but then we realized he'd gone and blown his own bum clean off."

The table erupted once again in laughter, except for Percy. "I don't think it's very proper to joke about the buttocks of a highly-decorated auror," he drawled. "My boss, Mr. Crouch, says that Mad-Eye Moody is one of the best aurors the ministry has ever employed."

"No one's critiquing his record, Percy," James said with a smile. "And we're not joking about his buttocks. He hasn't got enough left to joke about." James sobered suddenly. "But you can't tell him I've told you. Fred and George, I mean it."

"When would we ever get a chance to tell him?" George asked.

"Oh, you haven't heard, then?" Bill asked. "He's coming to Hogwarts. He's going to be your new Defense Professor."

"I have to admit, I'm a little jealous," Charlie added. "Even without him, this is going to be a great year at Hogwarts. I sort of wish I was back there myself."

"Why?" Ron asked. "What's happening?"

"You'll see," Bill said with a smile.

"Who wants dessert," Molly asked suddenly.

"Molly, you've outdone yourself. I don't think I could eat another bite," James said.

"Oh, come on, Dad. Aren't you the one who's always telling me dessert is important and to enjoy the little things in life?"

"If I enjoy too many more little things tonight, I'm afraid I'll explode."

"Tell us another story, then," Ron suggested. "Tell us about something you did when you were at Hogwarts."

"Hmm. We turned the main staircase into a waterfall once. It was when we were seventh years, and we got restless in the middle of our N.E.W.T. exams. Decided we wanted to go kayaking, so we started it on the seventh floor, and it went all the way down the stairs, out the front door, and into the lake."

"Brilliant," Fred said breathlessly. "What did McGonagall do?"

"She shouted quite a bit, but the effect was completely ruined when Dumbledore kayaked past just as she was getting herself wound up. I think she was secretly proud of us, though. I distinctly heard her telling Flitwick all about what a good bit of magic it was, and how the Ravenclaws had nothing on the likes of us."

"I think that's quite enough of that," Molly cut in. She turned to James. "My boys don't need any more ideas, James."

"So, as I was saying, gentlemen. I was perfectly behaved and never got into trouble. I was Head Boy, you know." James held his head up proudly.

"They let you stay Head Boy even after you built the waterfall?" Percy asked.

"By then it was nearly the end of the year, so it wouldn't have done much good to demote me. Besides, if they were going to take Head Boy away from me, they'd have done it at Halloween when Professor Black I sneaked into the Slytherin Common room during the feast and stuck all the furniture to the ceiling."

"Wicked," Fred and George said in unison.

"James!" Molly scolded.

"It wasn't permanent," James told her. "Did take the staff a few days to get everything down, though, and in the meantime, the Slytherins all had to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor because we'd put all the beds up there. It wasn't so bad, though. We had moved all the chandeliers to the floor as well, so they could just pretend like they were little campfires. You see, Molly. There's always a silver lining. And I think I'd like some of your scrumptious dessert now."

Molly gave him a wry look. "Why do I have the feeling you're trying to get me to go in so you can fill my boys' heads with ideas?"

"My dear woman, I would never do such a thing. Besides, you have nothing to worry about. Percy will keep me in line. Won't you, Perce?"

Percy turned slightly red. "I'll do my best," he said gravely. Molly pursed her lips and rushed off, clearly hoping she could get back out before any damage could be done.

Bill snorted. "I bet it would have been fun to be a prefect under you."

"The Slytherins didn't like me much. You should have heard the way Snape used to go on. You'd have thought his world was ending just because he had to do what I said. He was always lecturing me about responsibility."

"He was quite right," Percy said. "A Head Boy has a responsibility to set a good example. Why, when I was Head Boy-"

"Hey, Percy, you want a sweet?" Fred asked suddenly.

"Why, thank you, Fred," Percy said, reaching out to take the wrapped toffee that Fred was offering him.

"Percy, don't eat that," Charlie said suddenly. He turned to the twins. "I thought I told you to get rid of those. You know full well that if Mum finds out-"

"Finds out what?" Molly asked, exiting the house with a cake.

"How does she do that?" Charlie whispered. "If someone could figure out how to bottle her hearing and sell it, they'd make a fortune."

Fred and George looked at one another and smiled.

"I heard that," Molly said. "Now, what am I not finding out about?"

"It's nothing, Molly," Arthur assured her quickly. "It's all taken care of."

"What's taken care of?" Molly asked, her tone taking on a dangerous quality. She turned her glare on each person at the table in turn, waiting for the person who would crack.

"I think it's time Harry and I were leaving," James said, rising suddenly.

"Take us with you?" George asked.

"Not a chance," Molly said, fixing Fred and George with a glare. James and Harry scurried into the house. They heard Molly's shriek of, "YOU DID WHAT?" just as they were stepping into the floo.

"She's a little scary, that woman," James said when he and Harry were safely in his own parlor. "You should have seen the way her brothers used to worry about her. The twins take after her brothers. She was the only one who could keep them in line. Even their mother couldn't do it, but they were terrified of Molly."

"I don't blame them," Harry agreed.

James turned to Harry. "Well, come on upstairs. I'll show you what to do in the library."

"Now?" Harry asked.

"Yes, now. You can work until bedtime and pick up with it again in the morning. Then you can stop when Hermione comes and finish after the World Cup."

Harry rearranged his face into a look of abject disappointment.

"Don't look at me like that. You brought this on yourself. So move it."

Harry huffed and followed James up the stairs where he spent the two most boring hours of his life before James came in and told him to go to bed. He had never been more thankful to be sent to bed in his life. He fell asleep promising himself that he would never shout at his father again no matter how angry he got. It just wasn't worth it.

The next day was more of the same. When Hermione and her parents stepped through the floo around dinnertime, Harry was so relieved he thought he just might hug her. Hermione's parents had met James a few times over the years, and got along well with him, so they gratefully accepted his invitation to stay for dinner. Afterward, they kissed Hermione goodbye, gave her a warning to behave that Harry thought was unnecessary, and thanked James for taking her. Then they stepped tentatively into the floo.

"We have to be up early in the morning, so you two will want to get to bed early tonight," James said when Mr. and Mrs. Granger had gone.

"I'm too excited to sleep," Harry said.

"I know the feeling, and I've got a book you might want. It's the most boring thing I've ever read. It'll put you right out. But for now, what would you two say to gobstones?"

After a few games of gobstones, in which Hermione trounced both Potter men, James announced it was time for bed. As promised, the Potions book put Harry right to sleep. After reading two pages of it, he was out cold. Even so, he felt like he had barely closed his eyes when James began shaking him awake the next morning. Harry opened one eye far enough to see that the sun was just coming up. "It's too early," he groaned, rolling over.

"Hey, if you'd rather sleep than go to the World Cup, be my guest," James said breezily.

"All right. I'm up," Harry said, sitting up in his bed.

"Good. Go get showered and dressed. I'll have breakfast waiting."

"What about Hermione?" Harry asked, yawning.

"What about her? She's already up. She's downstairs reading. Now hurry. We've got a tight schedule."

Harry forced himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The warm shower did wonders ridding him of the final vestiges of sleepiness. Before long, he was downstairs with James and Hermione tucking into his breakfast. "How are we going to get there? Are we apparating?" Hermione asked.

"We're taking a portkey," James explained.

"I hate portkeys," Harry groaned.

James smiled slightly. "You can always stay here," he said casually.

"Not on your life. I'd go even if I had to travel by cactus."

"It's about time. Are you two ready?"

"Ready," Hermione reported.

"All set," Harry said.

The three of them set out for the front door. They met Neville Longbottom and his uncle Algie on the street, and Sirius and Remus were waiting for them when they got to the ford of the chattering stream where their portkey was to be found.

"We thought you people would never make it," Sirius said, grinning, a dented coke can in his hand. "Here's the portkey," he said, waving it for them to see. "We've got ten minutes."

They all gathered around the portkey, chatting amicably as they waited. "Uh-oh, it's time," Remus announced suddenly and, almost as soon as the words had escaped his mouth, Harry felt a familiar hook behind his navel as he was jerked off his feet.

He landed hard on the grass as he heard someone say, "Seventeen till nine from Landon Crossing. Potter, you're over that way. Ask for Roberts. Longbottom, you're across the way. Speak to a fellow by the name of Jones."

"All right, Harry?" James asked.

"Fine," he said. Traveling by portkey had always made him a little seasick.

"You'll want to get out of the way. We're expecting a large party from China in about ten seconds," the attendant announced.

The Potter party didn't need to be told twice. After saying goodbye to Neville and his uncle, Harry and the others made their way to Roberts's campsite, where they found the Weasleys already setting up camp. James had pulled some strings at the ministry to get them adjoining campsites. All the Weasleys were there. Even Percy had found time to step away from his busy new job at the ministry, working for Barty Crouch in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He had been going on all summer about cauldron thicknesses in Brazil, and Harry learned the hard way during a visit to the Burrow his second week of summer that it was far better to keep Percy off the subject unless he wanted to spend the next several hours bored to tears.

"Harry, how nice to see you," Percy said pompously when Harry and the Marauders arrived, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically as though he hadn't seen him only two days before. He quickly moved on to Sirius, whom he refused to call anything but "Professor Black" no matter how many times Sirius told him he didn't like to be called "Professor" outside of school.

"Erm, nice to see you, Percy," Harry replied.

Fred and George, never ones to lose an opportunity, sailed in right behind him.

"Harry! How lovely to see you, old chap!" Fred said, wringing Harry's hand until George pushed him out of the way.

"Yes, lovely. How have you been? How's the family?" George asked, shaking Harry's entire arm so hard Harry was afraid it might come out of the socket.

"Mr. Potter!" Fred said, moving on to James, "Simply splendid to see you."

"Why look! It's Sirius Black! As I live and breathe! Absolutely corking to see you, old boy."

"And Professor Lupin! How are things?"

Percy began scowling at them.

"That's enough, boys," Mrs. Weasley told them, coming up behind them. "Hello, gentlemen."

"Mum!" Fred exclaimed, shaking Mrs. Weasley's hand. "George, do you believe it? It's Mum!"

"How marvelous! Simply marvelous!"

"You two are being very rude, you know," Mrs. Weasley told them, shooting a look at Harry, James, Sirius, and Remus, who were all nearly in stitches. "And you four shouldn't be encouraging them!"

Harry and the Marauders sobered quickly. "Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said quickly.

"Yes, sorry Molly," James added.

"Sorry," said Remus.

"Yes, we're sorry," finished Sirius.

She shot them a stern look and marched the twins away. As soon as she was out of earshot, they started laughing again until they noticed Percy giving them a haughty look. They all sobered once again. "So, Percy, how's work going?" James asked.

Harry groaned and wandered away just as Percy was saying, "I'm glad you asked, Mr. Potter."

Harry wandered over to where Ron and the twins were happily soaking one another with water from a gushing faucet. "I see you got away from Percy," Fred said.

"My dad saved me," Harry explained. "He asked him how work's going."

The three Weasleys groaned. "A rookie mistake," George said, shaking his head.

"We're about ready to kill him at home. He never shuts up," Ron said.

"At least we know we're not the only ones," Fred said. "Someone's been sending him dung."

"Fred Weasley," Ron said, in such a perfect imitation of Percy's pompous tone that for a moment Harry was tempted to turn and make sure Percy hadn't walked up behind him. "You know very well that those were fertilizer samples from Romania."

"No, they weren't," George told Harry conspiratorially. "We're the ones who did it."

Harry joined in the laughter until he was distracted by Ginny.

Meanwhile, James was trying to extricate himself from Percy's verbal clutches. It was Remus who saved him in the end, calling him over to help Sirius set up their tent.

"Thank you," James said as soon as he got over to where Sirius was not at all in need of help.

"He's a bit wordy, that one," Remus acknowledged.

"Wordy?" Sirius said. "He's practically a walking autobiography on Barty Crouch. Sounds to me like he thinks the sun shines out that man's arse."

"You can't really blame him. There was a time when we all had a very high opinion of Barty Crouch," James commented.

Sirius shot James a look of pure annoyance. "That was before any of us had actually met the man. Well, what do you think?" He moved to the side and showed off the tent.

"What's that lump in the center?" James asked.

"And is it supposed to be lopsided like that?" Remus added.

Sirius waved his wand and the tent collapsed again. "If you two are so bloody brilliant, you put it up, then."

Ten minutes later, James had the tent set up perfectly. He left Sirius muttering about show-offs and went to locate Harry. He was not the slightest bit surprised to find him with Ginny, splashing through a small stream that ran through the campground.

"They're cute together, aren't they?" Molly asked, coming up behind him.

"Yes. There's nothing quite like young love," James agreed.

"It's going to be brutal when they break up."

"Who says they're going to break up?" James asked.

"Of course they're going to break up. They're far too young to be serious about one another. No one finds their soul mate at thirteen."

"I fell in love with Lily when I was eleven," James informed her.

"I'd say you were the exception, not the rule. Don't get me wrong. I hope it never happens. I would love to be proven wrong. Goodness knows Ginny's had a crush on him for as long as I can remember. I just think it's naive to think this is anything more puppy love."

James shrugged. "I suppose time will tell." He raised his voice. "Oi! Harry! It's time to go!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He took Ginny's hand and helped her out of the stream, and then they ran to where the rest of the group was already waiting impatiently.

"Shall we?" James asked.

Harry could barely contain his excitement. He couldn't wait to get to the top box.


	6. The World Cup

Beta'd by LauraWinter  


* * *

Harry couldn't get enough of all the sights as they walked toward the quidditch stadium. Before they left, James had given him a coin pouch with a generous number of coins inside, warning him to spend them carefully because he wouldn't get more if he ran out. Looking at the number of galleons inside, Harry had been quite sure he would never run out, but now, as he stared in wonder at all the stalls and the wonderful things to buy, he wasn't so sure. He wasn't overly concerned. Despite his warning, James would probably give him more, and if he wouldn't, Sirius almost certainly would. Still, he weighed his purchases carefully, not wanting to find himself in the rather embarrassing position of having to ask, particularly in front of one of the Weasleys.

Ron was particularly taken with the miniature figurines of the Irish and Bulgarian quidditch teams. "Do they fly?" Harry asked.

"Sure do," the man at the stall selling them assured the boys.

"We should get the set," Harry said. "We can use them in my model pitch. We can have them play each other. Or England."

Ron's eyes lit up. "That would be wicked," he said. Then his face fell. "I can only afford one," he groaned.

"Which one do you want?" Harry asked.

"Krum," Ron replied, lifting one of the figurines. It depicted a very young man with a surly expression on his face.

"You get him, then, and I'll get you the rest of the Bulgarian team. Then I'll get the Irish team."

Ron put the figurine down. "No," he said firmly. "I don't need you to buy me things."

"I'm not buying them for you. It'll be an early Christmas present, and birthday, too, if you like."

Ron thought for a moment, cutting his eyes toward the figurines. It was clear he really wanted them. "Christmas and birthday," he finally agreed.

"Duly noted," Harry said, handing the vendor the money as the vendor handed him two sacks full of figurines.

"You're a good person," James whispered, coming up behind Harry.

Harry smiled at the praise. "Good enough to not have to organize the library anymore?" Harry whispered back.

James smiled. "Well played," he said approvingly. "But no dice."

Harry shrugged. "It was worth a try."

When the time came, they made their way up to the top box excitedly. James seemed to know nearly everyone there who wasn't a Bulgarian, so the party kept having to stop as he made small talk with person after person. Finally, Harry and his friends wandered away to find their seats. Harry looked around, trying to commit every second to memory. He turned back toward the stairs when he heard the starting of a commotion. Sirius was standing with Lucius and Draco Malfoy and a blonde woman who wore an expression that seemed to suggest she had a particularly unpleasant odor under her nose. Sirius was wringing her hand, and she looked very much as though she wished he'd stop.

"Narcissa!" Sirius said, far too enthusiastically. "How lovely to see you!"

"Is that Malfoy's mother?" Ron asked Harry. "How does Sirius know her?"

"She's his cousin," Harry explained.

"Sirius is related to Malfoy?" Hermione questioned.

Harry nodded. "He's not too happy about it, though. Well, about being related to Malfoy's parents anyway. I don't think he cares one way or the other about Malfoy. He hardly ever speaks to Malfoy's mum. He was disowned, so most of the rest of the family pretends he doesn't exist."

"Why was he disowned?" Hermione asked.

"For being a Gryffindor. Well, technically, it was for running away from home when he was sixteen and moving in with my dad, but he says that by then they were just looking for an excuse."

"Poor Sirius," Hermione said, looking at him with a certain softness in her expression. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Although she vehemently denied it, it was no great secret that she fancied Sirius.

"I know," Ron said, shaking his head. "Imagine having to be related to Malfoy."

Meanwhile, Sirius continued his enthusiastic conversation with his cousin. "How are you, Narcissa? And how is your family? It's been too long!"

"We're fine, thank you," she said coldly, jerking her hand away from Sirius.

"How is Andromeda? Have you heard from her lately?"

Narcissa lowered her voice to a hiss, but it still carried easily to where Harry and the others sat. "You know full well that I haven't spoken to her since she married _that man_."

"That's his other cousin they're talking about," Harry explained in an undertone. "She was disowned for marrying a muggle-born."

"Oh, that's a pity," Sirius said, far too loudly. All across the box, people had turned to look. "You know, her daughter, Dora, just became an auror last spring. We're so very proud of her. And how's dear Bellatrix?"

"Why are you doing this?" Narcissa asked softly.

Sirius's gray eyes glittered coldly as he replied. "Because it's fun," he told her through gritted teeth.

"Come on, Sirius, let's go sit down," James said, taking hold of Sirius's arm.

Sirius turned away from the Malfoys, his expression hard. Harry quickly faced forward. He couldn't have said why, but he didn't want Sirius to know he had been watching.

"Cow," Sirius muttered as he plopped into the seat next to Harry.

"Why bother, Sirius?" James asked. "Why not just ignore her?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. It's just... I didn't speak to Reg for two years before he died, and now there isn't much I wouldn't do to have those two years back. She's still got a chance to get to know her sister, but she won't. And for what? Pride and outdated ideas about bloodlines? It's the most asinine thing I've ever heard in my life."

"You shouldn't let her ruin your good time," Remus said softly. Harry risked a glance at the Malfoys. Narcissa looked as though she were near tears, and Lucius and Draco were trying to comfort her. Draco Malfoy looked up and locked eyes with Harry. He narrowed his eyes in a glare, as though Harry were somehow at fault for his mother's distress. Harry quickly looked back at the field.

"It's almost time," Arthur Weasley said excitedly just as Ludo Bagman arrived in the top box.

"Why, it's Harry Potter!" Bagman exclaimed, rushing up to Harry to shake his hand. Harry groaned. He hated it when this happened. Harry shook his hand diligently and politely answered his questions for a few moments until James stood up and politely put a stop to it with an expertise gained from years of doing just that.

Bagman turned away from Harry and spoke briefly to Fred and George before pointing his wand at his own throat and chanting, "Sonorous."

His voice magically amplified, he welcomed everyone to the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch World Cup.

Harry thought it was the best quidditch game he had ever seen. He could barely get enough of watching Viktor Krum swoop and soar. Ron's favorite part was when the Irish team's mascots, a crowd of leprechauns, flew over the stands raining down gold on the spectators to tease the Bulgarian team's mascots, a gaggle of Veela in the form of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen. Ron grabbed a handful of the gold and forced it into Harry's hand. "Ha! This is for the figurines! Now you have to buy me a Christmas present." Harry cheerfully stuffed the gold into his pocket, accidentally knocking his wand to the ground as he did so. He picked it up again and absently placed it back in his pocket.

In the end, Harry couldn't help cheering when Krum caught the snitch, even though he was rooting for Ireland. Krum's catch made no difference. The Irish team was so far ahead by then that they still won, and Harry stood on his feet, dumbfounded as both teams came into the top box for the awarding of the trophy.

When they arrived back at the campsite, Harry was sure he had never had a better day. As soon as they had eaten their dinner, James disappeared to go find Bronwyn, who was there with her family at a different campsite.

"Why does he want to go see her?" Harry asked after James had gone.

"You still don't like Bronwyn, Pronglet?" Sirius asked him, poking at his ribs.

"No," Harry said, jerking away and laughing in spite of himself. "And stop tickling me. I'm fourteen now. I'm too old to be tickled."

"So sorry," Sirius said gravely. "So, why don't you like her today?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. She wears too much blue."

"She wears too much blue?" Sirius repeated. "I'm sorry, Pronglet, but that is the stupidest reason not to like someone I've ever heard. If she wore too much black, maybe I could understand, but what do you have against blue?"

Harry shrugged. "And she has a weird dimple."

"A weird dimple?" Sirius asked. "You're going to have to elaborate on that one."

"When she smiles, she only has a dimple on one side. She's lopsided."

Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing. "And that makes her unfit to date your father?"

Harry shrugged again. He said nothing more. Sirius threw an arm around his shoulder. "You are something else, you know that, little Pronglet?"

"Oi! I'm not little!" Harry protested.

"No, but no matter how big you get, you'll always be my little Pronglet," Sirius said, giving him a squeeze. Harry dropped his head onto Sirius's shoulder.

"Hey, I forgot to tell you. Remember my brilliant comet calculation theorem that you weren't interested in? Well, I shared it with the president of the Magical Astronomical Society, and he thinks I'm really on to something. He told me I should write a book about it."

"That's great, Sirius," Harry said, not lifting his head.

"Great?" Sirius said. "It's bloody amazing. And to think, you didn't want to hear about it. I bet you're sorry now. But you're in luck. I'll still tell you about it if you like. Only because I love you."

"I'm still not interested," Harry informed him.

"Oh," Sirius said sadly. After only a few seconds, he brightened. "Well, how about now?"

"Not so much," Harry said.

Sirius muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I ought to turn you into a tangerine horseshoe crab." Harry let the idle threat pass without comment. He stared into the campfire, resting his head contentedly on his godfather's shoulder and, without meaning to, fell asleep there. He barely even woke up when James returned and the two of them half-dragged, half-carried him to bed.

Harry awoke to a loud noise. From the light in the tent, he could tell that several hours had gone by. At first, he thought it was the Irish celebrating, but as he listened, he realized that the shouts he heard were not of celebration, but of terror.

"Kids, get up!" James said frantically. Harry bolted out of bed. He had rarely heard his father speak with such urgency. "Get dressed quickly," he ordered, hopping on one foot as he pulled on a sock. "You have to get out of here."

"What's happening?" Harry asked just as a loud explosion caused him to jump.

"Death Eaters," James reported. "Sirius and Remus are already waiting for you outside. They're going to take you somewhere safe. I have to go."

"Be careful," Harry said to the empty room a split second after James apparated away. He dressed quickly, grabbed his wand, and exited the tent with Ron and the twins. Ginny, Hermione, and Sirius were standing impatiently next to the flap of the tent.

"Thank God," Sirius said. "Let's go." Harry followed as they jogged toward the forest.

Harry paused for a moment and looked back at the campsite. Much of it was on fire. A familiar sense of fear crept through him as he thought of his father in the midst of all of that. Usually, he was able to not think about how dangerous James's job was, but there were times when the reality came crashing down upon him and terrified him. He could hardly stand the thought of losing James. "Where's Harry?" he heard a panicky Sirius ask in the distance. A moment later, he heard, "There he is. I'll go get him." Harry knew he should go, but he couldn't rip his eyes away from the fires, or the masked figures moving within them. Death Eaters. Just thinking the words made his blood run cold.

"Harry!" Sirius said sternly, tapping him on the shoulder. "What are you doing? Let's move!"

Harry turned to Sirius with fear in his eyes. Ron and Hermione were standing tentatively behind him. "Do you think Dad will be all right?" he asked.

Sirius's face softened. "He'll be fine. He knows what he's doing. But if anything happens to you, he'll kill me, so let's go." Sirius turned back toward the forest. "Damn," he swore. "Where did Remus and the others get off to?"

Harry looked around. They were nowhere in sight. "Oh, well," Sirius said with a sigh. "It can't be helped now. Let's go. Stay close."

Harry couldn't have said how long he followed Sirius's form through the forest. They reached a small clearing and Sirius stopped running. "I have to catch my breath," he explained. "Are you three all right?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all nodded. Harry looked back toward the glow on the horizon, trying not to succumb to the ball of worry that had lodged itself in his stomach. He ripped his eyes away and turned back to Sirius, who was also looking at the horizon with a curious expression on his face. "I should go see if I can help," he said. He pointed toward the edge of the forest. "Go hide in the trees. You'll be safe there." Without another word, Sirius apparated away.

"Come on, let's go hide," Harry said, heading toward the trees where Sirius had told them to go.

They had taken only a few steps, however, when a deep voice shouted out, "MORSMORDRE!" and a jet of light shot into the air. Harry followed it with his eyes as it erupted into a glowing skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. The screams from the campsite immediately changed, as did those from the forest around them. There was a series of loud pops as several witches and wizards apparated into the clearing, forming a circle around Harry and his friends. They all had their wands pointed at the youths' heads.

"Duck!" Harry shouted, pulling Ron and Hermione to the ground just as the witches and wizards sent a series of stunners their way. Harry reached for his wand, preparing to defend himself if necessary, but as he felt around in his pocket, he realized with a jolt that it was gone.

"Stop!" James's voice said. "That's my son!"

"And mine!" came Arthur Weasley's voice.

Harry felt himself being hefted to his feet. James's face was full of concern. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Harry assured him. "Only I've lost my wand."

"Maybe you left it in the tent?" James suggested.

Harry shook his head. "I remember grabbing it. I must have dropped it as we were running."

"Damn," James said. "Well, it can't be helped. We'll get you a new one."

"But I like mine!" Harry protested.

"Maybe someone will find it," James said reassuringly, then he looked around briefly. "Where are the others?"

"We got separated from everyone but Sirius," Harry explained. "And when we got to this clearing, he told us to go hide in the trees and he went to go help."

"Dammit!" James said. "He wasn't supposed to leave you alone. Well, I'm glad you're all right. Don't worry about the others. They'll turn up. It's mostly over now anyway. The Dark Mark scared most of the people away."

Harry looked at the image in the sky. "That's the Dark Mark?" he asked. James nodded gravely. He couldn't help but think of the last time he has seen the Dark Mark, glittering in the sky over his own ruined house.

"Wait just a moment," a stern looking wizard said. "The Dark Mark came from this clearing, and you three are the only ones here."

"Be reasonable, Crouch," James snapped. "A bunch of teenagers did not conjure the Dark Mark. Especially not these teenagers."

Crouch looked very much as though he wished to argue with James, but instead he turned back toward the assembled wizards.

James turned to Harry and took him by both shoulders. "Did you three see who did this?"

Harry shook his head. "But we heard it. It was a man's voice, and it came from over there." He pointed in the direction from which the voice had come.

"We should check in the trees. The stunners went everywhere. Maybe they hit someone," James ordered.

The wizards searched diligently, but all they found was a discarded wand that Harry recognized immediately. "That's mine!" he said. "That's my wand!"

"Yours, is it?" Crouch said, looking sternly at him. He handed it to Harry, who took it gratefully. "Are you familiar with priori incantato?"

Harry nodded. "It tells what spell a wand last performed," Harry informed him.

"Quite right," Crouch said. He pointed his own wand at Harry's. Smoke curled from the end of Harry's wand and formed into a perfect likeness of the Dark Mark still glittering over them in the sky. The assembled crowd gasped.

"I didn't do it," Harry said quickly, jerking his wand away from Crouch's.

"Of course he didn't," James said, stepping protectively in front of Harry, completely blocking him from Crouch's view. "Do you honestly think that Harry Potter would cast the Dark Mark? He's probably never even seen it before tonight. Not since he was a baby, anyway."

"Voldemort killed my mother!" Harry said indignantly, peeking out from behind James's back. Several of the witches and wizards gasped at the sound of Voldemort's name.

"Be quiet, Harry. Let me handle this," James said firmly. Harry clamped his mouth shut.

"James is right," Arthur said. "He hasn't even started his fourth year at Hogwarts yet. There's no way he could have done this."

Crouch looked at Harry for a moment. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry for accusing you, son."

"It's all right," Harry muttered, biting back the urge to add, "and I'm not your son."

James sighed and put an arm around Harry. "I think the excitement's over," he said. He turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. "The danger seems to have passed, but we'll need some volunteers to go back to the campsite and help clean up." Several witches and wizards raised their hands to volunteer, and James quickly organized them into teams and sent them on their way. Then he turned back to Harry and his friends. "I don't think anyone will blame me for taking Harry home, do you?" he asked Arthur.

"Not at all," he said.

"I'll come back in the morning and help you tear down the campsite. Tell Remus where we've gone. And if you see Sirius, do me a favor and thump him for me. Come on Harry, Hermione." He took both their arms and apparated them home.

Harry thought he had never been so happy to see his own house.


	7. Priorities and Partings

James slammed the Daily Prophet on the table.

"That woman!" he exclaimed.

"What woman?" Harry asked.

James huffed loudly. "Rita Skeeter. She's works for the Prophet. She's a reporter, in the loosest sense of the word."

Harry cocked his eyebrows, waiting for his father to elaborate, but Hermione beat him to the punch. "What do you mean by that?"

"She's not interested in reporting so much as she is in digging up trouble however she can. She's going on about the riots last night and claiming that the ministry botched it up. Not that she did anything to help. She was running around the crowd trying to interview everyone. If anyone botched things up, it was her. I saved her from being caught in the crossfires no less than five times. I finally told her that I couldn't spend all night babysitting her and to get her meddling bum to safety before I stunned her and levitated her out of the way myself. Apparently, she's held a grudge."

James picked up the Prophet and began to read. "'This reporter has received intelligence that one James Potter, the highly-decorated auror and father of Harry Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived, spent most of the crisis threatening to stun innocent bystanders. While these reports are unsubstantiated-' that means she can't find anyone else who heard me- 'the ministry will surely want to investigate this alleged abuse of power.' You'd think she'd be grateful for all the times I saved her, but no. I suppose gratitude doesn't sell newspapers. I bet my inbox is on fire when I get in tomorrow. Some people send howlers whenever the slightest thing goes wrong. Thank God I've got the day off. At least this way I can prepare myself a little bit."

A sudden knock at the door distracted James from his newspaper. He rose wordlessly and opened the door to find a house elf standing there. "Erm, can I help you?"

"I is being called Dobby, sir!" the house elf squeaked.

"Dobby?" Harry asked from the dining room, rising to meet his old acquaintance at the door.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby greeted him enthusiastically.

"You know him?"

"Sure. He was Lucius Malfoy's elf. He's the one who tried to keep me out of Hogwarts second year."

"This is the one you freed?"

Harry nodded, smiling, as he remembered the look of fury on Lucius Malfoy's face when Harry managed to trick him into freeing his own elf. He had then spent much of the summer trying to convince James that it was his responsibility to buy him a new elf. James stubbornly refused, answering all of Lucius's threats with threats of his own. He secretly told Harry that he just didn't want to inflict Lucius Malfoy on some poor, innocent house elf.

James turned back to Dobby. "What can I do for you, Dobby?"

"Dobby is going door to door looking for work, Mr. Potter."

James scratched his head. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not in the market to buy a new house elf at the moment. I've already got one, you see. Three if you count the ones at Potter Manor."

"Dobby isn't wanting to be bought. Dobby is wanting to do honest work for honest pay."

James furrowed his brow. "You want to be paid?"

"Why wouldn't you pay him?" Hermione asked, coming into the room.

"House elves aren't generally paid, Hermione," James explained.

"I'll pay you to help me organize the library," Harry said.

"No, you won't," James retorted sternly. "That's your punishment, and you're not getting out of it."

"Dobby would be happy to help Harry Potter organize his library!" Dobby piped up cheerfully. "He wouldn't even ask for paying from Harry Potter."

"You don't pay your house elves?" Hermione asked suddenly. "What are they, slaves?"

"They like it," Harry told her.

"Clearly not, if Dobby wants to be paid."

It was James who responded. "He's the exception, not the rule. Most house elves would consider it an insult to be paid. They think taking pride in their work is payment enough."

As if to prove his point, the Potters' own house elf appeared at just that moment, looking at Dobby as though he were something shameful.

"Chari had heard that Dobby was asking for paying now,"she squeaked in a scolding tone, "but Chari never thought she would see it with her own eyes. Dobby is forgetting what it means to be a good house elf. Dobby is leaving now."

"Wait, Chari," Harry interrupted. "Dad, can't you do something to help him?"

Chari obeyed Harry's command, but it was clear she was unhappy about it.

"You should go to Hogwarts and speak to Dumbledore," James suggested. "There's always plenty to be done there, and I'm sure he'd be fine with paying you. If he isn't, come back and I'll see about getting you set up at Potter Manor. With pay."

"Master!" Chari screeched, holding her ears distressingly.

"Bunnie's been ill lately, and I'm worried that it's too much for Bore to do alone," James explained to the house elf.

"Chari will help out at Potter Manor. Chari is a good elf. She is being happy to serve in Master's ancestral home." She looked for a moment as though she might cry, as though she had been betrayed.

"I'm sorry, Chari. I never knew it meant so much to you."

Chari wagged a finger in James's face. "Master should not be paying others to do what his elves will do." Harry had to fight the urge to laugh. It wasn't every day he got to see someone scolded by a house elf. Especially not his father.

Chastened, James turned back to Dobby. "Sorry, Dobby. The masses have spoken. I don't think I'm going to be able to help you. Try Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Dobby will be going to Hogwarts right away." He disappeared with a loud crack while James shut the door and set about trying to comfort Chari. Harry had never seen her in such a state. The fact that Hermione was going on about slave labor and telling her she had every right to cry over that didn't help much.

"You do realize you're insulting her, don't you?" James asked after Hermione gently told Chari that she deserved to be paid. By then, Chari was wailing loudly, and James had to give her a handkerchief.

"I'm not insulting her!" Hermione argued. "I'm trying to get her to defend herself."

"Chari is a good elf!" Chari wailed into the handkerchief. "Chari is never asking for paying!"

"Chari, please stop crying," Harry said. Chari stopped as suddenly as if the tears had been yanked away from her. "That wasn't an order!" Harry quickly told her, but the damage was done.

"Harry," James admonished, his tone dripping with annoyance. "It's all right, Chari. You can cry if you want to."

"Chari is a good elf," Chari insisted. "Chari obeys her masters' orders."

"But I didn't mean for it to be an order. I just don't want you to be upset."

Chari sniffed and began to wail again. "Master is so kind!"

"She has to stop crying just because you tell her to?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Not necessarily. She can disobey us if she really wants to, but it's difficult, and she'd have to punish herself," James replied.

"Chari would never want to disobey!"

"What do you mean, she'd have to punish herself?"

"It varies," James said. "Bunnie used to run into walls."

"Dobby did that a lot, too. And shut his hands in drawers."

"That's awful!" Hermione exclaimed.

"House elves is serving their masters," Chari interrupted. "House elves is deserving to be punished when they make mistakes."

Eventually Chari calmed, but she was cold toward Hermione until she left the following morning. James had to return to work to help sort out the mess and Harry spent the whole day in the library, bored nearly to the point of desperation and wishing he really could have let Dobby help.

That evening, Remus came over, and James gave Harry a brief reprieve. They tried to talk Sirius into coming as well, but he wouldn't. The day after the world cup, James had gone to Sirius's place to shout at him for leaving Harry alone. Sirius had accepted it gamely, freely admitting that he had fouled up, but now he appeared to be burying himself in guilt over it. He consistently refused James's invitations and attempts to reconcile. James was more bothered by the distance than he let on. The two of them had rowed before, but this couldn't exactly be described as a row. It was almost as though Sirius had decided that he didn't deserve James's company after having made such a colossal mistake and had sentenced himself to solitary confinement in his seaside cottage. James had seen him do this before, but only once. It was disconcerting for him to see his normally easy-going friend slip into blame and self-doubt. He sincerely hoped the start of term would snap him out of it.

Just as Harry beat James for the second time, the floo roared to life and Brownyn stepped out, looking nervous.

"Bronwyn!" James exclaimed, standing to greet her. "What are you doing here? What's the matter?"

Bronwyn stepped away from the floo, her face grave. "I've been offered a position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'd be a sort of diplomat. It's my dream job, James, exactly what I always wanted."

James hugged her, lifting her in the air and spinning her around. "That's great, Bronwyn! That's wonderful news!"

"No, it isn't," she replied, her eyes beginning to dance with tears. "It would mean I'd have to move to Vienna."

He let go of her suddenly, his smile fading. "Austria?"

She nodded, her blue eyes bright.

"Oh," James said dully, sitting down hard in an armchair.

"I really should be going," Remus said suddenly.

"I'm sorry," Bronwyn said quickly. "I've been terribly rude just dropping in on you like this."

"No, no, it's quite all right," James assured her absently. "I'm glad you think enough of me to want to discuss this with me."

"Well, of course I do," she replied. "I love you."

James jerked his head up. "You do?"

Bronwyn gave a small laugh. "Of course I do, you idiot. Otherwise, I never would have stayed with you this long."

James blinked a few times, wishing this weren't the way he was finding out that the woman he loved loved him back. He also wished he weren't having this conversation in front of Harry and Remus. Almost as though he had read James's mind, Remus began to make his excuses, disappearing a moment later with a loud pop. "Harry, would you give us a moment, please?"

"Sure," Harry said, retreating just far enough up the staircase to be out of sight, but not so far that he couldn't still hear every word.

"When would you leave?"

"October first."

"That rather sudden, isn't it?"

"They're in a bind. The person who had it just died. I only have until tomorrow to decide, or they're going to offer it to someone else."

"Oh," James said again, not sure what else to say. "So, are you going to take it?"

"I don't know. If I'd been offered six months ago, I'd have taken it, no question. But now..." Bronwyn let the rest of her sentence hang in the suddenly-thick air.

"Now?" James asked, his hands shaking slightly as he awaited her response.

"I don't want to leave you," she said, reaching out to run her fingers tenderly through his hair.

"I don't want you to miss the opportunity of a lifetime on my account. We can send one another owls or see one another at the holidays. We can make it work, somehow."

She shook her head as the first tear fell. "Long distance relationships never work," she said. "You always think they will, but they never do. Letters are a poor substitute for company."

James took her hands in his, intertwining their fingers. "It's clear you want to take the job. Otherwise, you'd have turned it down already. And if it's what you want, I think you should go."

"What do you want?" she asked.

James wanted to be selfish. He wanted to tell her to stay. He wanted to ask her to put her life on hold for him, to stay and grow old with him, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't ask that of her. He remembered taking Harry to Diagon Alley the day after he got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts and sitting with Sirius and Remus debating whether or not to keep him home another year because he wasn't ready to let him go. "When are we ever ready to let the people we love go?" Sirius had asked. "But that's just what we have to do if we love them."

James took a deep breath and said some of the hardest, but truest, words that had ever come out of his mouth. "I want what you want."

"I want you to tell me not to go."

"Do you want that because you truly don't want to go, or do you want that because it'll give you an excuse to stay?"

"I don't know," she cried, shaking her hands in frustration. "I don't know what I want. I want both. And want you and the job."

Two hours later, they finally made their decision. Bronwyn was going to go.

"I guess this is it, then," Bronwyn said, her voice thick with tears.

"I guess so," James replied, his voice also choked with emotion.

"Take care."

"You, too."

She stood on tiptoes to flutter her lips against his cheek. Then she turned on the spot and was gone, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in James' chest to show she'd ever been there.

James sat on the sofa long after she was gone, staring into space. He barely noticed when Harry came to sit next to him, handing him a cup of tea and a small plate of biscuits.

"Hey," James said softly.

"Hey," Harry replied, just as softly. "I'm sorry about Bronwyn."

James quirked his eyebrows. "Are you really?" he asked, a small smile playing at his lips. "I thought you'd be glad to be rid of her."

Harry blushed slightly. "Well, maybe I was a touch too hard on her."

"A touch?" James asked, smiling sadly now.

Harry cocked his head. "Maybe more than a touch. I was kind of a prat, wasn't I?"

James sighed. "It doesn't matter. It's over now."

"I'll be nice to the next one. I promise."

James sighed again. "I don't want to think about that just now. Maybe I'll just swear off women for good."

"You don't really mean that."

"No, I don't. But I sort of wish I did."

"Here. Have some biscuits. They'll make you feel better."

James reached out to ruffle Harry's hair before helping himself to the biscuits. "You're a good kid. You know that?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "And I've got a great dad."

It was two days before he was to leave for Hogwarts before Harry finished organizing the library. By then, he would have paid just about any price not to have to alphabetize anything again for the rest of his life. Yet, when he finally placed the final book, he looked around the library contentedly. He never would have expected it, but he felt a great sense of accomplishment at having finished such a large and painstaking task.

James was off the day that Harry was to leave for Hogwarts. He was planning to take Harry to London in the morning and then spend the rest of the day with Remus. He hoped having Remus around to distract him would make saying goodbye to his son easier. He always dreaded the lonely drive back home and the empty house he faced when he arrived there. He also hoped it would keep Remus from thinking too much about how much he was going to miss teaching.

James had sworn he was going to give up reading the Daily Prophet, tired of reading Rita Skeeter's increasingly desperate attempts to pin the riots on the ministry, but he couldn't quite force himself to do so. He sat at breakfast shouting at the paper. This morning, she was claiming that the entire auror department had mishandled the riots, allowing them to go on unchecked for hours before they organized any sort of attempt to stop them. James had made another appearance in the article. This time it accused him of blocking the investigation of a potential suspect. Luckily, she did not seem aware of the fact that the "potential suspect" was Harry. James reckoned she'd probably have a field day if she ever got hold of that bit of information.

"Dad, why do you keep reading it? You know it's just going to upset you," Harry asked, after the fifth cry of "what is the matter with her?" punctuated the breakfast conversation.

"I can't help it," James admitted sheepishly. "It's like a compulsion. I have to know what's being said."

"Hello? James?" someone called from the parlor. James jumped up and went in, Harry on his heels. They found a man's head in the fire.

"Good morning, Amos. What can I do for you?"

"I thought you'd be interested to know that Scrimgeour's on the warpath about that article in the Prophet. I know you're supposed to take Harry to King's Cross, but you might want to come in."

James ran his fingers uncomfortably through his hair. "Why can't he ever get on the warpath about important things?"

"You know him, always... hold on a moment." Amos's head disappeared suddenly and reappeared just as suddenly a few moments later. "Moody's gone and made a mess of things again."

"What did he do this time?"

"A bunch of dustbins on his lawn started attacking bystanders. He's been arrested by muggle policemen. Tonks is on her way to fetch him. Any ideas on how to get him out of this one?"

"Call Arthur Weasley. His department might be able to come up with something. And please remind Scrimgeour for me that that Skeeter woman wouldn't know the truth if it danced in front of her wearing nothing but a smile. I'll consider coming in this afternoon, but I can't this morning. Harry comes first."

"I understand completely. If Melinda weren't home to take Cedric, I wouldn't be here either. Cheerio." With that, Amos disappeared.

James turned to Harry. "I swear, I never get a moment's peace."

"Who was that?"

"Amos Diggory. His son's at Hogwarts with you. You know him, I think. His name's Cedric."

"Yeah, I know him," Harry grumbled. Cedric had once beaten Harry to the snitch in a quidditch match, something for which Harry hadn't quite forgiven him.

"Still cross about the quidditch match?" James teased.

"It wasn't fair! I was unconscious!"

"That's quidditch," James said with a shrug. "Last man standing wins. Although, I have to admit that Amos has been rather obnoxious about the whole thing. He keeps going on about how Cedric will be able to brag to his grandchildren about beating the Great Harry Potter. Why he thinks I would want to hear this, I don't know. But he keeps saying it, like he's expecting me to argue with him or something. I keep telling him that I don't care, but he never listens. I was just happy you survived that game. Whether or not you won was my last concern."

James and Harry stared at one another for a moment, neither of them wanting to remember how awful that particular day had been.

"Are you packed?" James asked after a sad pause.

Harry nodded. "I finished yesterday. By the way, why do I have green robes?"

"They're dress robes. You should tell Mrs. Weasley thank you, by the way. She helped me pick them out. Apparently, I was about to buy something horribly out of style."

Harry didn't care in the slightest about style, and he certainly wasn't interested in wearing anything dressier than his blue jeans. Ever. "Why did she get green? I've only ever seen black dress robes before."

"That's because you've only ever seen my dress robes before. They come in all sorts of colors. Mrs. Weasley thought the green would bring out your eyes."

"Why do I even need dress robes?"

"I don't know. Your list just said to bring them. My guess would be that there's going to be some sort of ball. Do you need help getting your trunk down the stairs?"

"No, I can get it," Harry said, a touch of pride in his voice. There was a time when it was too heavy for him to lift it on his own, but now he could.

"Then why don't you go ahead and get it down here. It's nearly time to go."

James and Harry usually drove to London, and it was one of Harry's favorite times, a sort of last breath of fresh air before the busyness of the term began. It was also a last chance to be with his dad. Harry could still recall the way he felt standing on the platform his first year, and how leaving home had felt like the end of the world. It got easier to say goodbye every year, and he often forgot the moment of sadness in his excitement to see his friends, but he still missed James while he was at school. More than once, he had found himself wishing Hogwarts was a day school so he could go home in the evenings and tell his dad all about his day over dinner the way children in muggle television programs did. The way he used to do when he was in primary school.

They arrived with time to spare and made their way through the barrier and onto the platform. Harry always hated the moment of goodbye, but it was made easier by the arrival of Fred and George, and their jokes. They told Harry with a wink that they had managed to salvage a few pieces of candy from their mother's attempts to destroy their stash.

"Ton-tongue toffee," Fred said, showing Harry a piece. "Try just one, and your tongue will grow as big as a horse."

"Remind me never to take any candy from you," Harry whispered as the whistle began to sound.

"Bye, Dad," Harry said, giving his father a hug.

"Bye, Kiddo. Have a good term, and behave yourself. I love you."

"I always behave myself," Harry said with a grin. "And I love you, too. See you at Christmas." He ran to the train and waved goodbye as the final whistle called. He stood next to Ginny, waving at his dad from a window until the train rounded a corner and the platform slid out of sight. James sighed and left the platform to head for Diagon Alley and an afternoon with his friend.


	8. Secrets and Sangria

"My father wanted to send me to Durmstrang," Draco Malfoy was haughtily saying as Harry, Hermione, and the four youngest Weasleys passed by his compartment. He spied Harry passing outside the door and cut his eyes at him. "They actually teach the dark arts there, not just this defense nonsense, and they've got pride. They'd never let riffraff like Black or Lupin teach there, and they don't allow mudbloods in at all."

Harry felt his temper rise at Malfoy's words. He felt nothing but animosity toward the Malfoys for upsetting Sirius so much at the World Cup and, while James insisted that his parents' behavior was not Draco's fault, Harry couldn't quite keep from blaming Draco at least a little bit. The fact that he knew Draco felt the same way as his parents probably contributed significantly to Harry's reluctance to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm just glad Lupin resigned. Can you believe Dumbledore?" Malfoy continued, looking straight at Harry victoriously as he spoke. "Letting a run-down wizard like that come and teach us? What will be next? A madman? And Black is actually friends with him! My mother says it's a shame the way Professor Black went bad. He was from a well-respected family, but he never appreciated what they did for him. All he ever wanted to do was run around with blood traitors and mudbloods. He broke his mother's heart, the way he disgraced his family and spat on all their attempts to raise him up properly. They say he even went through the family home after his poor mother died and threw away all the family's things. Heirlooms and priceless artifacts that were centuries old, but he just tossed them out like so much rubbish. He never did have a proper wizard feeling."

"Come on, Harry. You know he doesn't know what he's talking about," Ginny said softly, slipping her hand into his. Harry had not repeated any of the stories Sirius had told him about his childhood. To anyone. James said it was Sirius's place, and his alone, to decide who should know and who shouldn't, and Harry was quite sure he wouldn't want his students to know. The explanation made perfect sense to Harry. He certainly wouldn't have wanted someone to take it upon themselves to share his darkest secrets.

The next compartment they passed contained Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville, all Gryffindors in Ron, Harry, and Hermione's year. The moment Neville saw them he opened the compartment door and greeted them enthusiastically. Fred and George, growing impatient with all the stops, wandered off to find their friend, Lee Jordan. Ginny wandered away to find a few of her friends as well. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped into the compartment with their housemates and passed most of the rest of the trip chatting happily about the World Cup.

As the rode northward, the sky grew dark and ominous. Harry gazed out the window, feeling thankful that he wouldn't have to cross the lake in this weather as the first years would. He had been lucky his first year; the weather had been nearly perfect for a lake ride. He turned to the others as they began to laugh and something hanging out of Ron's trunk caught his eye. "What is that?" he asked, pointing at it.

Harry immediately realized he'd made a mistake when the tips of Ron's ears turned pink. "Nothing," Ron muttered, working hastily to conceal the whatever-it-was. Seamus, who was not nearly so fast on the uptake as Harry, was not willing to drop it so quickly. After many attempts to change the subject, and enough ribbing that Harry had begun to wish he'd never seen whatever-it-had-been in the first place, Ron finally ripped the thing out of his trunk, revealing it to be a very old, very musty, very lacy, very maroon set of robes.

"It's my dress robes! Happy now?" Ron snapped, holding them against his body as though showing them off. "I'm going to look like McGonagall." He raised his voice to a falsetto and began ordering everyone to pipe down or he'd put them in detention. Before long they were roaring with laughter, but Harry could tell that Ron's laughter was only superficial.

His smile faded entirely when they all heard a familiarly unpleasant voice ask, "Have you decided you're a girl, then, Weasley?" just as Ron was declaring, "Ten thousand points from Gryffindor!"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Harry said, rising quickly and placing himself in the doorway so that Malfoy and his Slytherin goons, Crabbe and Goyle, could not enter the compartment.

"Where in the world did you ever find those? In Moody's rubbish bins?" Malfoy continued.

"I think they're fancy," Hermione declared.

"You would think they're fancy. Everyone knows mudbloods have no sense of style."

The entire compartment, save Hermione, leapt to their feet at the epithet. Harry raised his wand. "Call her that again, and I'll curse you into the next century," he threatened.

"Yawn, Dumbledore's golden boy making empty threats. Maybe you would have fit in at Durmstrang. Then again, maybe you would have been better at Beauxbatons. I hear they're all pansies there, and you certainly fit that bill. I still say you'll never duel me man to man. You always have to have five mates backing you up. Weasley, you should at least try to get rid of some of the fleas in that thing before the ball."

"What ball?" Seamus asked.

Malfoy looked from face to face. "You mean you don't know what's happening at Hogwarts?" He looked directly at Harry. "Even you? Your father didn't tell you? Well, maybe he doesn't know either. He's not really that well-connected, is he?" Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Imagine having a father who works at the ministry and still not knowing."

Malfoy began to laugh, clearly impressed by his own wit. Crabbe and Goyle, slightly slower on the draw, began to laugh a few moments later. Then they all walked away, still laughing. "See you Potty... and Potty's friends," Malfoy called over his shoulder.

"Don't listen to him, Ron. Your dress robes are fine," Harry told him, returning to his seat after shutting the compartment door.

Ron stood uncomfortably in the center of the compartment. Finally he threw his robes back into his trunk. "Why is everything I own rubbish?" he asked. No one replied, not wanting to upset him further.

"So what do you think Malfoy was on about?" Dean asked. Grateful for the change of subject, everyone latched on to the question.

"I don't think he knows what he's talking about," Harry stated assuredly. "He's just trying to let on he knows something to make us feel bad."

"And what was he saying about those other places? Durmstrang? Beauxbatons? What are they?"

"They're other wizard schools," Hermione explained.

"There are other schools?" Dean asked.

"Of course," Harry said with a shrug. "They're all over the place. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are the other two in Europe. Beauxbatons is in France somewhere, and Durmstrang's somewhere in Northern Europe. No one really knows for sure where either of them are, though, except the teachers and students, because they're unplottable."

"Unplottable?" Neville questioned.

It was Hermione who responded. "It means you can't put them on a map, and, depending on the power of the spell, you might not even be able to find them unless you already know where they are. That's why we take the Hogwarts Express. Otherwise, the parents who didn't go to Hogwarts would never be able to find it. Muggles can't see it, you understand."

"I never knew that!" Harry exclaimed.

"Honestly, are you boys never going to read _Hogwarts, a History_?"

"Why should we when you've got it memorized?" Ron asked sulkily from the seat nearest the window, where he had thrown himself to pout.

Hermione continued, ignoring him. "When muggles get close to Hogwarts, all they see is a moldering ruin with a sign that says, 'Condemned, keep out'. Can you imagine if a muggle accidentally wandered in?"

No one could imagine it, so they lapsed into silence as the rain began to lash at the window. Harry stared into the storm, trying not to remember last year's trip, when he had passed out after a brief encounter with a dementor. He shivered, remembering the icy feeling of the dementors' breath in the compartment. Then he found himself wishing Remus were returning to Hogwarts. He had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher the year before, and was the best Defense teacher they'd ever had.

He quickly became everyone's favorite teacher, much to the chagrin of Sirius, who was used to be everyone's favorite. It had been Remus who saved Harry from the dementor. But he resigned at the end of the previous term after he transformed into a werewolf and nearly attacked Harry and his friends. Harry suspected he still felt guilty about it, although Harry himself didn't hold a grudge. He knew Remus couldn't control himself in his werewolf form, and that he never in a million years would have willingly hurt Harry, or anyone, for that matter.

Harry already knew he'd miss the weekly chats he and Remus used to have over cocoa. He didn't think about it often, but in the back of his mind, he always knew he was very lucky to have the Marauders looking out for him. Sirius had pulled him out of more scrapes and close calls during his time at Hogwarts than he could count, and Remus had taken time out of his busy teaching schedule to teacher Harry how to conjure a patronus after Harry confided in him that dementors were his greatest fear.

Sirius, Remus, and James could be annoying sometimes, and they were certainly overprotective, but Harry was glad to have them all the same. No matter what he did or how he acted, they always seemed to want him around. He could not recall a single moment in his life when he didn't know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was deeply loved.

When they arrived at the Hogsmeade station, they all scrambled to get into the horseless carriages that were to take them up to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. Inside, they were warm and dry. Harry climbed into one with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, and it took off toward the castle. When it arrived, they dashed madly inside, only to be met by Peeves, the Hogwarts Poltergeist, throwing water balloons on the students as they entered.

"At least we were already soaked," Harry muttered as he and his friends made their way into the Great Hall.

Harry was excited to see the sorting this year. Since his own sorting, he had not managed to see one. The previous year, he had been meeting with Professor McGonagall while the sorting was going on. The year before that, he missed the sorting because he and Ron were busy crashing a flying car into the whomping willow at the time.

Harry glanced up at the staff table and saw Sirius watching him. He smiled and waved, and Sirius smiled and waved back. Harry was glad to see he was feeling better. James had assured Harry that Sirius was merely sulking and that it would pass, but Harry had missed having his godfather around. He decided to drop in on him later that evening. He was definitely overdue a visit.

* * *

James and Remus were not drunk. They were quite clear on that point. Never mind the fact that Remus had grown giggly and James couldn't stop talking. Never mind, either, the empty firewhiskey bottles decorating the coffee table. They were decidedly not drunk.

"I don't have another bottle," James reported sadly as he rummaged through his liquor cabinet. "I have some wine. Let's drink that. Ooh! We can make sangria!"

"Or we could just drink the wine."

"That's a good idea! Yes, let's do that! You always come up with the best ideas! How do you do that? You're so smart." James continued to ramble as he poured two glasses of wine, barely noticing that he was spilling almost as much as he was getting in the glasses. He stumbled into the parlor and handed a glass to Remus. Then he plopped down in a chair, spilling most of his wine in the process. He looked at the glass forlornly. "Did I drink this already?" he asked.

"Must have. Hey, look! Someone's coming through the floo!"

"It's Albus! Hi, Albus! Did you bring firewhiskey?"

"No, I can't say I did," Dumbledore replied eying Remus and James warily.

"That's okay. We just made sangria! You want some?"

"No, I'm here for business, not pleasure, but maybe I should come back tomorrow."

"No, it's fine. Have a seat. I'll get you some sangria!"

"I don't remember making sangria," Remus cut in. "I don't think we really did that."

But James was already in the kitchen. "Moony!" he called. "Where did we put the sangria?"

"I don't think we made sangria!" Remus called back. "I don't even know how to make sangria!"

James came out of the kitchen. "You know, now that I think about it, I don't think we made any sangria."

"I'm going to come back tomorrow, gentlemen," Dumbledore said, rising.

"No, don't leave!" James said, sounding appalled. "If you want sangria, I'll make you some. It's easy."

"I don't want any sangria, thank you, James. I came to ask a question that I thought you would be particularly adept at answering as Hogwarts' most talented troublemaker emeritus. I asked Sirius earlier today, but he was surprisingly unhelpful. He kept insisting he never misbehaved in school."

"That's Sirius, all right," James said, plopping back down in his chair. "Where'd I put my drink?"

"I believe you've had enough, James," Dumbledore said sternly.

"Pshaw! I'm barely starting to feel it. I could certainly use another. Do we have anymore firewhiskey?" James got up to search for more firewhiskey as Dumbledore slipped away unnoticed. He returned the following morning to find them both nursing pounding headaches.

"You were here last night?" James asked when he explained his errand. "Then why in the world didn't you make us stop drinking?"

"I tried," Dumbledore said serenely. "But you kept trying to serve me sangria."

"Oh, yeah, I remember something about sangria. We were three sheets to the wind by then," Remus replied.

"Drinking firewhiskey is a good way to get that way," Dumbledore agreed.

"To be honest, I was a little surprised the house was still here this morning," James added. "I was afraid we drank it."

"Are you two feeling up to helping me brainstorm a bit?"

"I think I need a little breakfast. But after that, sure. Chari!"

Chari appeared with a loud pop that made James and Remus moan. "Don't do that!" James snapped.

Chari's eyes went wide as she made her way to the leg of the nearest armchair and began banging her head against it, squeaking out apologies all the while. Each bang of her head jarred James until he felt he might sick up.

"Don't do that, either!" he ordered. "You haven't done anything wrong. Just bring us some toast and orange juice. Quietly!"

"You two know about the triwizard tournament, I assume," Dumbledore began after Remus and James had finished their breakfast.

Remus and James both nodded. James had been approached at the ministry just the week before and asked to join a team of aurors who would be monitoring the tasks for safety.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive on October 30th and the Goblet of Fire will be lit. The champions will be chosen after the Halloween Feast. As you probably know, the ministry, in conjunction with the staff of Hogwarts, have decided that only those who are of age will be allowed to compete this year. I will be putting an age line around the Goblet of Fire. What I need to know is this: if you were an underage student, how would you go about getting across an age line?"

"Age potion," James suggested immediately.

"I'm already prepared for that."

"Aging hex?" James said.

"Yes, I've thought of that as well."

"I'd just get a student who is of age to put my name in for me," Remus said.

Dumbledore turned to him, surprised.

"Little known fact about the Marauders. Remus was always the brains behind the outfit. Sirius and I were just the grunt men," James informed their old mentor.

"That's not true. You two came up with plenty of ideas. You were the one who came up with the idea to flood the Slytherin common room. That was probably the best prank we ever pulled."

"Nah, the best one was when we sneaked into Dumbledore's office and... you know what, never mind." James turned to Dumbledore. "I don't have any other ideas."

"What did you sneak into my office and do?" Dumbledore asked.

"Nothing. I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. We never once sneaked into your office."

"Were you the ones who drew mustaches on all the old headmasters and headmistresses as they were sleeping?"

"We might have done that. I really don't recall," Remus commented dryly, hiding his smile behind his half-drunk glass of orange juice. "Although I will say that Sirius got a particular thrill out of defacing Phineas Nigellus Black. Apparently, there was a picture of him at Grimmauld Place, and it was none too kind to Regulus."

"That's not surprising in the least. For someone who spent his life as an educator, Phineas seems to have very little patience with youth," Dumbledore said serenely. "He was furious when he discovered his beard had been colored purple, by the way. I had to hear about it for weeks. He tried to convince me that I ought to cane the whole school."

"I'm glad you didn't. We would have felt far too guilty to allow that to happen. Then we would have had to confess, and that's no fun. Although, if you'd started with the Slytherins, we might have waited until you'd got through them before we came clean."

"Slytherins aren't all bad, you know," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"No, just mostly," James agreed with a wink.

"Well, gentlemen, I believe I'll leave you alone with your hangovers. If you come up with any other ideas, please do share them with me. I want to be prepared for all possibilities. Particularly with Fred, George, and Harry around."

"Harry will not try to get across your age line," James said firmly. "If he does, I'll kill him. And you can tell him that."

"I've always thought death threats were most effective when delivered personally." Dumbledore smiled before turning to the floo.

"You don't really think Harry would try to get around the age line, do you?" James asked.

Remus raised one eyebrow. "Haven't you met Harry?"

"Fair point. I better go send him a threatening owl. Remind him that the library can be messed up again at a moment's notice."

"Good idea. You do that. I'm going to lie here and moan."

"Oh, I like that idea better. I think I'll do that, too. Why in the world did you ever let me drink so much?"

"Oi! I'm the one having a career crisis here. You were supposed to be the level-headed one."

"You expected me to be the level-headed one? All that firewhiskey must have gone to your brain."

"Shh. Don't bother me right now. I'm moaning. Ugh."

"Ugh is right. Remind me to never drink again."

"Hey, Prongs."

"What?"

"Never drink again."


	9. A Foul Ferret

"No quidditch," Harry said glumly.

"But the tournament will be bril!" Fred replied encouragingly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But no quidditch."

"We're going to enter," George told Harry and Ron conspiratorially.

"How can you do that?" Harry asked. "You have to be of age."

"We'll be of age by the time the last task rolls around. It's only bad luck we don't turn seventeen until April."

"Don't you think Dumbledore will be angry if you get chosen?" Ron questioned skeptically.

"It'll be too late for him to do anything about it by then," George retorted with a wink. "Are you planning to enter?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet year. Let someone else risk their neck for a change."

"What about you, little brother?" Fred asked Ron.

"I don't know. It would be pretty wicked. Mum would probably go mental, though."

"Mum goes mental at the drop of a hat. You're not still scared of her, are you?"

"No," Ron snapped, but Harry thought he didn't sound particularly sure. He couldn't blame his friend. He was a little scared of Mrs. Weasley, but he wasn't about to admit that to the twins.

"What sorts of things do you think they'll make the champions do?" Harry asked, hoping to change the subject. It worked; their conjectures carried them through the rest of the evening.

Harry lay in bed awake late into the night, thinking. Like nearly everyone else in the school, Harry's imagination had been captured the moment Dumbledore mentioned the Triwizard Tournament. One person would be chosen to represent Hogwarts, and Harry had fantasized for one very brief moment about being that person. Until, that was, Dumbledore informed them that only students who were of age would be allowed to compete. Like Fred and George, he had considered trying to submit his name anyway but quickly decided against it. He didn't even want to think about what his dad would have to say about it. Or what his dad would do to him. Reorganizing the library probably wouldn't be the half of it. James was a very creative person, and Harry didn't ever want him to ever begin putting that creativity to use thinking up punishments for his son.

No, having a quiet year for once would be very nice. Finally, he would be able to sit in the stands and ooh and ah while other people did the hard stuff. And who knew? Maybe Fred or George could become the Hogwarts champion. Harry could already imagine himself sitting in between Ron and Ginny, cheering the twins on. It wasn't until he woke up the next morning that he realized that, in all the excitement of the previous evening, he had completely forgotten about visiting Sirius. Oh well, it would have to wait. There wasn't ever much free time on the first day of the term, but maybe he'd be lucky and have Astronomy the first day.

At breakfast, Professor McGonagall handed the Gryffindors their schedules and Harry looked at it curiously. It turned out he had Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and History of Magic today. Astronomy wouldn't be untiltomorrow. Harry gulped down his breakfast and joined Ron and Hermione as they made their way to the greenhouses for Herbology.

"Everyone get out your dragonhide gloves," Professor Sprout ordered them the moment they arrived in the greenhouses. Harry reached into his satchel for his gloves, moving his fingers stiffly inside of them. Sprout explained that their task for the day was to gather bubotuber pus, which they would do by squeezing the boil-like bumps on the bubotuber plant. She demonstrated on a plant, squeezing the bump carefully and catching the yellowish-green goo that emerged in a bowl. A smell very like petrol filled the greenhouse. "Don't let any pus go to waste. It's very valuable. And make sure you wear your gloves. In its undiluted form, it's caustic and will cause blisters and burns. Diluted in a mixture, its a very effective cure for acne. Well, go on. Get to it."

Harry was eying his buboter warily. It looked like nothing so much as a half-buried slug and was moving of its own accord. He always found it disconcerting when plants did that. He much preferred violets and green beans and predictable things that didn't try to burn anyone. He set about collecting the pus and found that it was actually rather satisfying work. Each protrusion made a rather pleasing pop when it was squeezed, almost like a particularly large and obnoxious pimple. The plant behaved as though it was enjoying itself as he worked. Before long, the students grew used to the smell, and it faded through familiarity. Harry looked around and saw that Neville in particular seemed to be content with the task. Herbology was one of the few subjects at which Neville truly excelled.

After Herbology, the Gryffindor students made their way to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid met them with an excited air that Harry had learned over the years could bode nothing good.

"Got a special treat fer yeh today!" he said enthusiastically. "Blast-ended skrewts!"

"What?" Malfoy asked loudly.

"He said 'blast-ended skrewts'," Harry shouted. "Maybe it's time to clean out your ears!"

Malfoy glared at him coldly. "I heard what he said, Potty. What I want to know is what they are."

"Maybe if you could shut up for ten seconds, he'd tell you," Harry snapped. A wave of chuckles went through the Gryffindors. The Slytherins remained stonily silent.

"Tha's enough, you two. Blast-ended skrewts are, well, they're animals."

"Oh, how informative!" Malfoy said loudly. Harry discreetly hit him with a jelly legs jinx. The Gryffindors laughed loudly as he fell. Pansy Parkinson looked appalled as she tried to help him up. In the end, Crabbe and Goyle grabbed him and propped him up between them. Hagrid somehow didn't notice the commotion. Or if he did, he did an expert job of ignoring it. Harry suspected it was the latter. If he let on that he knew, he would have to punish Harry for hexing another student, and Harry knew full well he would hate to have to do that.

"Today, we're goin' ter try feedin' 'em. I'm not really sure what they eat, so I have plenty a' things fer yeh to try. Yeh'll want to wear your dragon-hide gloves. They're a little, er, explosive sometimes. Divide inter groups and each group take a box!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the nearest box, where they were joined by Seamus, Neville, and Dean. The six of them peered uncertainly until the box. Harry thought the skrewts were the most hideous things he had ever seen in his life. They were small, white, and shell-less, looking very much like giant slugs. They had no discernible heads or tails, although some of them had stingers on one end. Every once and again, one of them would let out a jet of fire from one end and be propelled forward a few inches.

"I think I preferred the pus," he told his friends in an undertone.

"Why have only some of them got stingers?" Hermione asked. Judging by her tone, she thought the skrewts were the most interesting thing in the world. Harry began to wonder if all the time traveling she had done the previous school year was affecting her brain.

"Why have only some of them got stingers?" Pansy mimicked cruelly, her voice high and her face squinched. Hermione ignored her, but several of the Slytherins laughed. Harry thought their sense of humor needed some work.

"Ah, good question," Hagrid replied. "I think those are the males. The females have got a sort of sucker. Probably fer sucking blood."

"Human blood?" Malfoy asked timidly from somewhere high in the air. His legs still wouldn't hold him, so Crabbe and Goyle had set him on their shoulders.

"Just what he needs," Harry muttered to Ron. "His two goons carrying him around like he's a king." Harry removed the jelly-leg jinx and resisted the urge to knock him off their shoulders. The last thing Hagrid needed was for Malfoy to get hurt in his class again - especially not on the very first day. The previous year, Malfoy had insulted a hippogriff called Buckbeak in Hagrid's class, and the hippogriff was most unhappy about it. The ensuing injuries that Malfoy received were well-deserved and not nearly so bad as he let on, but his father, looking for any excuse to be a slimeball, insisted that the hippogriff be tried.

In the end, Buckbeak was found guilty and sentenced to be executed, but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Marauders saved him at the last minute. Sirius was planning to fly with him to the Forest of Dean but was interrupted when Harry was kidnapped. Instead, he had returned the hippogriff to Hagrid's herd and renamed him "Witherwings". As far as Harry knew, Witherwings was still living happily in the Forbidden Forest with no one any the wiser. He smiled remembering it. The Marauders really were great.

"Oh, lovely," Malfoy said sarcastically from his perch. "Just lovely. Who in the world wouldn't want to feed something that can burn, sting, and bite all at once."

Several of the Slytherins joined the Grynffindor laughter when Malfoy fell from his friends shoulders and landed hard on his back.

"Tha's enough of that, Harry. Yeh hex him again, and I'll call your father."

"I'm sorry, professor," Harry said dutifully.

"Tha's quite all right."

Harry sighed. He knew Hagrid wouldn't really call his father, and even if he did, James probably wouldn't be overly upset. Sure, he had told Harry many times to leave Malfoy alone, but Malfoy just kept asking for it. James was pretty understanding about that sort of thing, but Harry still thought it wise not to push his luck just now. The memory of the library was still quite fresh in his mind. It was probably still fresh in his dad's mind as well.

"What do they even do?" Seamus asked.

"I don't know," Hagrid admitted. "I've never had skrewts before."

Just then a large, hideous beetle landed on Harry's robes. He picked it off.

"Ew, what is that?" Pansy asked loudly.

"Looks like a beetle to me," Harry said in his most haughty tone.

"Ugh! It's so ugly. You should stamp on it," she said.

"I don't know. I think it has a certain charm. Here, look closer." Harry held the beetle out to her. She screamed and ran away. "I think it likes you," Harry called after her. Next instant, he was chasing her with it while she ran, letting out constant blood-curdling screams. The other students followed them with their heads as they weaved through the crowd, ignoring Hagrid's demands to stop. They stopped suddenly when Pansy tripped over an exposed tree root and Harry tumbled on top of her. He checked on the beetle and was both sad and disgusted to see that he had squashed it. His hand was covered in beetle guts. He rose quickly and offered Pansy a hand. He was careful to offer her the one with the guts all over it.

"I don't need your help," she snapped, pushing herself up. Then she stalked back to Malfoy and his friends, muttering.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Harry," Hagrid said sternly. Harry shrugged, wiping his hand on Malfy's robes as he passed. Five points was fair, and well worth it to get even with Pansy for teasing Hermione.

"I still don't understand why we're trying to keep these things alive," Malfoy said loudly, glaring at Harry. Harry smiled at him and gave a little finger-wiggling wave. "They're awful."

"That doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragons are pretty awful, too, but where would we be without them?"

"Well-said, Hermione. Ten points for Gryffindor." Hagrid winked at Harry, and Harry understood that he had been looking for any excuse to give back the points he had just taken.

When it was time to leave, the students ambled away toward the Great Hall, nursing their burns, stings, and bites and wishing very much that they had decided to take anything but Care of Magical Creatures.

"Those things really are awful," Hermione said, rubbing absently at a small burn on her forearm.

"But that won't matter if they turn out to cure spattergoit or something, right, Hermione?" Ron asked mischievously.

"No. I only said that to shut Malfoy up. If Hagrid had half a brain, he'd stamp on the lot of them before they get big enough to do any real damage."

At lunch, the trio were met by a very awed Fred and George.

"We've just come from Defense," Fred told them. "Amazing. Wonderful! Incredible!"

"What?" Harry queried, curiosity creeping into his tone. "What was so incredible about it?"

"He's been there," George said breathlessly. "He knows."

They refused to say much more than that. Harry say down glumly, wishing he didn't have to wait until Thursday for Defense Against the Dark Arts. After they had finished their lunch, Harry and Ron made their way to Divination. It was quickly beginning to rival Potions for the honor of being Harry's least favorite class, mainly because the professor, Trelawney, seemed to have a special love for predicting Harry's death. Today, she did not disappoint.

"We're going to begin studying the role of planetary alignment in fortune-telling," she told them breathlessly. "Potter, you can be our example."

"Why is it always me?" Harry whispered.

"You're too good to pass up," Ron whispered back.

Trelawney came close to Harry and stared at him. "I am sorry to inform you," she said mistily, "that the thing you fear will soon come to pass."

"Of course it will," Harry muttered, loudly enough for most of the class to hear. Trelawney ignored him.

"I can tell a lot about Potter's birth chart just from what I already know of him. Tragedy early in life, dangerous enemies, dark hair and fair skin. I believe I am correct, my dear, in saying you were born in midwinter?"

"I was born in July," Harry told her, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice. Titters of laughter went around the room.

"Divination is not a joke, class," she snapped. "If you will not take my lessons seriously, perhaps extra homework will persuade you. For the next month, you will keep a planetary chart and use it to make your predictions."

The class sobered significantly after that, and Trelawney resumed her ethereal vocal stylings as she began to explain moons and houses and how they all seemed to spell doom for life on earth as they knew it.

All in all, Harry was not in the best of moods when dinnertime rolled around. His mood was not improved when he and his friends were met in the Entrance Hall by Draco Malfoy, brandishing a Daily Prophet in their faces.

"I thought you would be particularly interested in this, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. He began to read from an article about Mad-Eye Moody and his new role as teacher at Hogwarts. The end of the article, which was of course written by Rita Skeeter, openly questioned Dumbledore's sanity for exposing innocent children to such a well-established loose canon. "'The very day he was to leave for his new position'," Malfoy read. "'Moody attacked an innocent group of muggles with rubbish bins. Arnold Weasley-' Did you hear that, Weasley? They can't even be bothered to get his name right. It's almost as if he's a nonentity, isn't it? 'Arnold Weasley smoothed it over. Surely the ministry will want to investigate this alleged abuse of power'."

"Rita Skeeters's a buffoon. She's always claiming everyone's abusing their power," Harry said dismissively. "She accused my dad of that after he saved her neck at the World Cup. If anyone's abusing their power, it's her."

"But wouldn't it be awful if he lost his job?" Malfoy asked, feigning concern. "Who would feed all the poor Weasleys then. I know your mother couldn't do it, although she's certainly well fed herself, isn't she?"

Ron's face went red and he moved toward Malfoy menacingly. "You shut up about my mother!" he shouted.

"Temper, temper," Malfoy chided. "I'm just making conversation. How much does she eat anyway?"

Ron began fighting to get to Malfoy. Harry held him back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius and Mad-Eye Moody approaching at top speed. "You know _your _mother," he said coldly to Malfoy. "That looks she's got? Like she just stepped in dung? Does she always look that way, or just when she's with you?"

"Don't you dare talk about my mother!" Malfoy shrieked.

"Temper, temper," Harry chided, imitating Malfoy's words. "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." Harry as just turning to Ron to tell him to ignore Malfoy when a jet of light shot past his head. He whipped around to defend himself just in time to see Malfoy begin to shrink. In a matter of moments, where Malfoy had previously stood, was a very frightened looking ferret.

For a moment, Harry thought Sirius had finally lost it and carried through on one of his transfiguration threats, but it soon became obvious that Moody was the guilty party. He flipped his wand and Malfoy-the-ferret flew through the air and began bouncing across the floor. "You never attack an opponent when his back is turned," he scolded, bouncing Malfoy on the ground with each word. By the end, he was letting out a pained ferrety squeak with every bounce. Moody continued to berate the ferret as McGonagall approached.

"Hello, Alastor. What are you doing?" She looked at the assembled crowd. Her eye began to follow the bouncing ferret.

"I'm teaching," Moody growled.

"Teaching?" she asked. Then her eyes went wide. "IS THAT A STUDENT?" she shouted.

"Yes," Moody said casually.

"No, no, no! Put him back right this instant!"

"As you wish," Moody said nonchalantly. He dropped the ferret once more and flicked his wand lazily. A moment later, Malfoy was sitting on the ground where the ferret had been, looking all the worse for the wear.

"We NEVER use transfiguration as a means of discipline."

"No? That's a pity. What do you do then? Do you still use the cane?" Malfoy sucked in his breath and paled visibly.

"No, we give detention or take points or speak to the pupil's head of house."

"Okay," Moody agreed. "You have detention, and you lose one hundred points, and you're a Slytherin, so your head of house would be Snape, right?"

"A hundred points seems a bit much, Alastor," McGonagall said.

"Who's handling this? You or me?" he barked.

McGonagall stood stock still for a moment. Neither she nor Moody blinked as they stared at one another in a silent battle of wills. "Be my guest," she finally said with a wave of her arm. Malfoy, who had been looking hopeful only a moment before, deflated visibly.

"I'll be having a talk with Professor Snape about your behavior," he continued, as though he had never been interrupted. "I've been wanting to have a chat with him anyway." Something about the way he said it led Harry to believe he was not intending it to be a pleasant chat.

As Moody turned to leave, Malfoy began to mutter. The words, "when I tell my father," could be distinctly heard.

"You go ahead and tell your father," Moody said without turning around. "I wouldn't mind catching up with him, either." Moody disappeared into the Great Hall.

The moment he was gone, McGonagall rounded on Sirius, who was leaning casually against the wall, watching the commotion with an unreadable expression on his face. "Why didn't you stop him?" she barked.

"The same reason you didn't," Sirius said breezily. Harry could not understand how Sirius always managed to stay so calm under pressure. If McGonagall were looking at him, Harry, like that, he was quite sure he'd explode on the spot. "There's no arguing with him once he's made up his mind to do something."

McGonagall huffed and stomped away, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floors. Malfoy was openly glaring at Sirius.

"May I help you with something, Malfoy?" he asked innocently.

Malfoy shook his head and sloped into the Hall, his Slytherin cronies on his tail.

"A wise choice," Sirius told him as he passed. "It would be a pity for you to lose even more points for your house."

Sirius winked at Harry. "All right, you three?" he asked.

They nodded, smiles on all their faces. "Good. Go get something to eat. The first day is always stressful." He lifted himself off the wall and strode into the Great Hall, whistling.

"That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my whole life," Ron said when they were alone.

"Come on. Let's go get dinner," Hermione said.

"Shh. Don't talk to me. I want to fix that image in my head." Ron closed his eyes, a look of pure rapture on his face. "Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

Harry and Hermione snickered and made their way toward the Great Hall. Ron followed a moment after.


	10. Unforgivable

The week nearly flew by. It seemed every professor was determined to set a new record for the amount of homework assigned. Even Sirius, who had never before been much for essays, assigned five feet on trans-Neptunian objects. He had not been his usual exuberant self in class, and when Harry stayed behind to speak with him, he explained that he had been stressed over the book he was supposed to be writing. "I feel like I'm spending my whole life in the library," he said with a sigh. "I didn't even study this much when I was a student."

"When's the book due?" Harry asked.

"The twenty-fourth of June," Sirius said absently as a sixth-year Hufflepuff appeared in the classroom.

"That's still plenty of time," Harry said encouragingly.

Sirius nodded, looking as though he weren't quite sure it was enough time at all. "You should get to class," he said as he began looking through the papers on his desk.

"Oh, right!" Harry said excitedly. "I have Defense Next. With Moody. Fred and George say his classes are wicked."

"Yes, he was quite the auror in his day. Now get!" Sirius sent him on his way with a playful push.

Harry hurried out of the Astronomy Tower, arriving at his Defense class with just enough time to slide into a chair before Moody stomped in.

He cut an impressive figure. His face was crisscrossed with craggy scars, and a large chunk was missing from the end of his nose. He was missing a leg as well; a carved wooden leg just peeked out from beneath his robes. Most disconcerting, however, were his eyes. One was completely normal: brown and shrewd. The second, however, was electric blue and seemed to move about of its own accord. Harry got seasick watching it whiz around in the socket. He began to wonder how Moody could stand it.

It was the second eye that had gained him the nickname Mad-Eye, although James had warned Harry that he would be very unwise to call Moody that to his face. "I made that mistake once," James admitted sheepishly. "I thought he was going to hex me. In the end, he gave me such a dressing down that I thought I was going to die of humiliation right where I stood." Now, James wavered back and forth on whether or not the nickname was acceptable, sometimes insisting that the man be referred to only by his given name and other times slipping into the use of the moniker. He seemed to be torn between thinking Moody had earned respect and thinking the nickname amusing. It was little wonder he found it amusing; he and Sirius had been the ones to coin it. "Although it wasn't our best work," he explained to Harry.

"What was your best work?" Harry asked.

James thought about that for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure. Most of the really good ones were also a touch cruel. Sirius and I were really quite awful when we were young. I don't know how anyone could stand to be around us."

Harry had rolled his eyes at that. His dad was always talking about how horrid he had been as a student, but Harry was sure it wasn't true. All the stories he told about the things he used to do were hilarious, and if he had bullied Snape a little, well, Harry wasn't going to judge him too harshly for that. Snape had probably deserved it. Sometimes Harry wished James would come and bully him a little bit now.

Snape's behavior had been strange of late. He seemed twitchy whenever Moody was around, and Moody seemed to get great pleasure out of seeking him out. He always seemed to sit next to Snape at meals, and he had even shown up during their Potions class the day before, claiming he just wanted to "chat". The ensuing conversation was too quiet for the students to hear, but it was obviously anything but pleasant. Harry had never seen Snape squirm quite so much; he hadn't even known it was possible to make Snape squirm. Watching it had certainly made Harry's level of respect for Moody go up tenfold. Snape had been subtly torturing Harry for three years.

"Books away," Moody growled. There was a flurry of activity as everyone hurried to obey. No one wanted to get on Moody's bad side after what he had done to Malfoy. Moody limped to the front of the room and slammed a jar on the desk. Inside the jar, three spiders waited. Ron looked at them with disgust on his face. Harry felt a surge of sympathy for him. Ron had never liked spiders.

"I've been reviewing your lessons. Your instruction in this subject has been very scattered. You're well ahead of where you should be on dark creatures, but you've fallen behind on curses. Today, we're going to learn about the three unforgivable curses. Who can give me an unforgivable curse?"

A few hands shot into the air. No one was surprised when Hermione's was one of them. Everyone was surprised when Neville's was. Moody called on Ron.

"The Imperius Curse," Ron said confidently.

"Excellent," Moody said. "This one gave the ministry quite a bit of trouble a few years ago. After the fall of You-Know-Who, several witches and wizards who had been working for him claimed to have been under this curse. Working out who was telling the truth and who was lying was damn near impossible. We're still not entirely sure we caught all the scum."

A wave of whispers went around the room at Moody's words. No one had ever heard a teacher use a swear word before.

"Quiet!" Moody barked. The ensuing silence was deafening.

Harry and his classmates watched as Moody opened the jar of spiders, reached into it, and caught one of the spiders. Ron let out a little whimper. Moody held the spider in his hand as he pointed his wand at it. "Imperio!" he said in a commanding voice.

Harry watched in awe as the spider began to turn somersaults. Then it floated through the air as though on an invisible trapeze. Harry watched, awed, and began to laugh along with the rest of the class when the spider rose up on two legs and began to do a little tap dance.

"You think it's funny, do you?" Moody barked. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?" The class sobered quickly.

"I have complete control," Moody told the class as the spider began to turn cartwheels. "I could make it throw itself down one of your throats. I could make it betray its best friend, or its own mother. I could make it drown itself." As though to illustrate the point, Moody ordered the spider into a small tray of water. It didn't even flail as it drowned. Moody dumped the tray of water after only a few seconds, lifting the spell with a flick of his wand. He caught the spider as it tried to crawl away and put it back in the jar. The class was deathly still. Harry thought he could have heard a pin drop.

"I know this isn't pleasant, class," Moody said, a twinge of sympathy in his voice. "But Dumbledore wants you to see these things. You need to know what you're up against. You must maintain constant vigilance! There is evil in the world that is very real. Some of you saw what happened at the World Cup. If Voldemort rises again, he won't have mercy on you just because you're young. In fact, he much prefers to kill his enemies while they're young. It's much easier to kill a baby than a fully-trained wizard." Moody locked eyes with Harry for a moment, and Harry had the distinct impression that that last bit had been about him.

"Who knows another curse?"

"The Cruciatus," Neville said without waiting to be called on.

"You're Frank and Alice Longbottom's boy?" Moody asked as he caught a second spider. Neville nodded, his face pale.

"Damn shame what happened to them. They were good aurors." Moody turned to the rest of the class. "Cruciatus. For you to really get the idea behind this one, my specimen will need to be a little bigger. Engorgio!" The spider grew to three times its normal size, and Harry stole a glance at Ron. He looked as though he might sick up at any moment.

Moody pointed his wand at the spider. "Crucio!" he bellowed. Harry let out a cry as the spider reacted. It curled in on itself, its legs flailing as though it were in terrible pain. Harry was sure that if it could make a sound, it would be screaming with agony. He wanted to shout, to tell Moody to stop, but he couldn't. He was frozen to the spot, unable to rip his eyes away from the terrible sight before him.

"Stop it!" Hermione screeched. Her voice seemed to break the spell, and Harry turned to look at her. She wasn't looking at the spider. Instead, she was looking at Neville, who was pale as a sheet and trembling. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were crying.

Moody put the still-twitching spider back in the jar. "You don't need crude devices to torture a person when you know the Cruciatus Curse," he said softly. "There's one curse left. Does anyone know?"

Harry raised his hand tentatively. So did Hermione. "Potter," Moody called.

"Avada Kedavra," Harry whispered. "But please don't do it. We don't want to see."

"I'm sorry, son. You need to know what the worst is."

Harry wanted to look away. He wanted to get up and run out of the class. He even had a very childish desire to crawl under his desk, as though it could somehow shield him from the terrors of the world. His throat tightened as he watched Moody catch the third spider. It tried to scurry away, almost as though it knew what he had in mind for it. He brought his hand up and pointed his wand at the spider. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green light, and a dull roar filled Harry's ears. The spider was on its back in Moody's hand, unmarked, but dead. Harry bit back his tears. Was that how it had been for his mother? Had she seen the flash of light, heard the rush of impending death, and then simply fallen? A life snatched away in the blink of an eye? Could death really be that quick?

"Nasty business," Moody said. "There's no counter curse. If you get hit, you die. There has been only one exception in all of recorded history, and he sits before me." Harry blushed furiously, wishing his lower lip weren't trembling quite so much, as Moody gestured to him. He felt the weight of his singularity more heavily in that moment than he ever had before.

"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked, causing the entire class to jump. "Next class, we will begin learning to throw off the Imperius Curse. It can be fought, but it's very difficult. I'll be putting it on each of you so you will know what it feels like."

"How can you do that when it's an unforgivable?" Hermione asked, a small squeak of fear in her voice.

"The ministry has given me special permission," Moody explained. "Although, if any of you have a problem with it, you're free to leave." He motioned toward the door. No one moved a muscle. "That's what I thought," he said. "Now open your books." There was a flurry of activity as everyone dove for their books, thankful to have anything to take their minds off what they had just seen.

* * *

"He just killed it, Dad! Just like that!" Harry told his father for what had to be the tenth time that evening. Harry had gone to his dormitory immediately after class to get the two-way mirror his father had given him when he left for Hogwarts. He barricaded himself in an empty classroom as called for his dad. James was there in an instant, able to tell in one glance that something was wrong. His first reaction was to offer to let Harry come home for the evening, but Harry refused, telling himself he was fourteen now and shouldn't have to go home just because he was a little upset. The longer the conversation went on, the more he wished he had accepted the offer.

James sighed. "I wish I could tell you that the world has no evil in it, Harry, but it simply isn't true."

"But it didn't do anything!" Harry cried. "It was just there, and he killed it."

James nodded, wishing he knew what to say to make this all better for Harry. But he didn't. "I know."

"I don't understand," Harry croaked out, looking painfully young and innocent.

"That's a good thing, Harry. I hope you never understand how one person can kill another. And I wish I knew what to say, but there isn't anything to say. The fact of the matter is that there are evil people in the world, and they do evil things for no good reason, but that doesn't mean you have no power. You know how Dumbledore likes to go on about the power of love, and he's right. I truly believe that good will win out over evil in the end. Just look at Voldemort. He was the most evil wizard the world has ever known, but he was defeated by the simple sacrifice of a loving mother.

"If you can't understand anything else, understand that. The good that people do doesn't die with them. It lives on forever, pulling hope from the ashes. Evil men will come and go, but as long as good people are willing to fight for everything that's beautiful in the world, good will win out every time. Because evil may look stronger and feel stronger, but in the end, hope and love are the strongest forces in the world. Evil doesn't stand a chance against them."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Dad," he said softly. "You always know just what to say."

"It's not just pretty words, Harry. It's the truth. Remember that."

"I will."

"Are you sure you don't want to come home?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Actually, I should probably be going. Dinner's going to be soon."

James gave Harry a smile that he didn't really feel. "Have a good dinner, then."

"Bye, Dad. I love you."

"Bye, Son. I love you, too."

James ran his fingers through his hair as he put the mirror away. He was fighting the urge to go to Hogwarts and ask Moody what he was thinking showing the curses to fourth years. He well remembered when Moody showed him the curses his first day of auror training. He had been unnerved, and he was fully grown. No wonder Harry was a mess! He paced a moment, telling himself he was getting worked up over nothing. He took out his other two-way mirror and called for Sirius, but Sirius didn't answer, so he made his way to the floo, hoping Remus was at home.

* * *

"Look at my book, Harry," Neville said as Harry went into the dormitory to put his mirror away. "Moody says Sprout told him I'm really good at Herbology, so he gave me this." He held up a book entitled _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean_.

"That's great, Neville," Harry said encouragingly. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward Moody for being kind to Neville. It seemed so few people were. "Do you want to go to dinner?" Harry asked.

Neville nodded, carefully placing a bookmark in the book and putting it aside.

After dinner, Neville resumed his reading, curling up next to Ron and Harry on the common room sofa as they worked on their planetary alignment charts for Divination.

"Let's see," Harry said. "I think I'll get burns around the thirteenth because Mars is ascending."

"Oh, bother, I was going to be burned. Oh, well. I'll drown instead. And then after that, I'll... hey, what do you think you're doing?"

Hermione had just come in and was waving a paper under Ron's nose.

"I've been thinking," she explained. "Ever since that day I was at your house, Harry, and Dobby came by, I decided someone ought to do something for the House Elves."

"I keep telling you, Hermione," Harry said, not even looking up from his chart. "They like it."

"They're slaves! They probably just like it because they've been told to like it. So, I've decided to do something about it." She produced a badge and stuck it in Harry's face.

"Spew?" he asked, reading the badge. "What is 'spew'?"

"It's not 'spew'. It's S.P.E.W. Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. And you're vice president."

"Me?" Harry asked.

Ron laughed at him. "Don't laugh. You're treasurer." Ron stopped laughing immediately.

"Why do I have to be treasurer? I'm no good at maths."

"You don't have to be good at maths. You just have to keep up with the money," Hermione said bossily.

"What money?" Ron asked.

"The money from dues, of course."

"You mean people have to pay to be in spew?" Ron asked incredulously.

"It's not 'spew'!" Hermione protested. "It's S.P.E.W. Here." She handed Ron a badge. "Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" Ron retorted.

"Aren't you going to put it on?"

"I wasn't planning to," Ron replied, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione rounded on Harry, who put the badge on sheepishly, only to take it off again the moment she had her back turned.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," Ron said with a sigh. "She's completely nutters."

Harry couldn't help but agree.


	11. Unforgettable

"What are you going to do?" Remus asked.

"I don't really see that there's much I can do," James replied glumly. "That's Moody for you. There's no telling him anything. Only I wish he would have held off on showing them the killing curse at the very least."

"I don't know. Something seems off. Why would Dumbledore agree to show curses like that to fourth years?"

"Dumbledore may not have agreed. Moody's always been the sort to do it his own way and damn the consequences. That's part of what made him such a good auror. And Dumbledore's wise to trust him. He hates the dark arts more than anyone else I know. Maybe even more than me, if that's possible. I think I could use another drink."

Remus smiled knowingly as he filled up James' glass. "Weren't you the one saying you'd never drink again just a few days ago."

"Now, Moony. You know full well I didn't mean that. It was just the hangover talking."

"You never learn a lesson, do you?"

"Not unless I have to."

"Have you thought about going up to talk with Moody?"

"I doubt it would do any good. He'd probably just shout at me for questioning his judgment. He doesn't take too kindly to that, especially now that everyone's trying to claim he's gone batty."

"Still scared of him?"

"Only a little. But I do trust his judgment, and I think he has his students' best interests at heart. Unlike some professors who shall remain nameless."

"Snape picking on Harry again?" Remus asked with a sigh.

"No, actually. Harry said he seems afraid of Moody. I don't blame him. I'd be afraid of Moody, too, if I were him. Moody still thinks he should have gone to Azkaban."

"Hard to believe, isn't it? Someone you grew up with joining up with Voldemort? No matter how many of them I watched do it, I never quite got used to it. You never think about Death Eaters having been children once."

James nodded his agreement. "Yep. This is a crazy world we live in, Moony. And sometimes I think it's getting crazier by the second."

"You're not usually so pessimistic, Prongs."

James shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know. I have this weird feeling lately, like something huge and horrible is coming our way, and it seems like the signs are everywhere, but I can't quite fit them together. Moody's out of retirement. Death Eaters are at the World Cup. Rita Skeeter's trying her damnedest to throw the ministry into turmoil. Harry's having nightmares and complaining of his scar hurting. It feels like we're right on the edge of a cliff. One wrong step and over we'll all go. Did you hear what happened at the old Riddle place?"

Remus shook his head.

"The gardener who used to work for the Riddles - back before Voldemort murdered them - turned up missing a few months ago, not too long after Bertha Jorkins went missing. The ministry doesn't think anything of it. They say we shouldn't concern ourselves with muggle crimes, but I think there's more to it than that. I don't know. I can't explain it. I just... something's not right. And I'm quite sure Voldemort's at the bottom of it. But I can't even figure out where to start. I think I'm ready to switch to tea now."

"So you did learn your lesson," Remus said wryly.

"Not at all, but I have to be up very early in the morning. If I thought I could get away with showing up to work drunk, believe me, I'd try it. But Scrimgeour doesn't have much of a sense of humor, I'm afraid."

Remus sighed. "Things will turn out all right. Between Dumbledore and Moody, Harry will be safe at Hogwarts. And whatever Voldemort's planning, we'll face it, just like we've faced everything else he's thrown at us. And we'll beat him, because... well, we just will."

James sucked in a cleansing breath. "You're right. We've faced him before, and we'll face him again. And maybe I will go drop in on Moody. Just to see how he's settling in at Hogwarts."

"You should be careful. I had a letter from Harry this morning that says he's been turning people into ferrets."

James smiled. "I had heard that. I also heard he deserved it."

"I bet Sirius was beside himself," Remus replied.

James laughed. "Harry said he told off McGonagall when she asked why he didn't make Moody stop."

"He always was fearless."

"Quite," James agreed. "You feeling up for some chess?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Remus said. "I'm going to whip your arse, you know."

"You talk a big game for someone who's about to be eating crow."

"I don't know, Prongs. Harry still hasn't managed to beat me."

James narrowed his eyes. "That was below the belt," he accused, but the twinkle in his eyes showed clearly that he was joking.

* * *

Harry settled into his classes slowly. The third week of class, he went to Defense to be informed that today would be the day Moody would put everyone under the Imperius curse.

He watched with growing anxiety as person after person was put under the curse. Neville was first; the moment he went under, his face took on a blank expression that looked vaguely familiar to Harry. After some thought, he decided it looked just like the expressions Crabbe and Goyle usually wore. A moment later, he wasn't thinking about anything at all as he watched Neville begin to dance and turn cartwheels. He fought the urge to laugh along with the rest of the class as Neville performed feats of balance he never would have been able to do otherwise.

As Moody lifted the curse, Neville stood there a moment, shaking his head as though hoping to clear it, before Moody moved him off and brought Parvati Patil to the front. Harry stood near the back, hoping Moody wouldn't get to him today. It wasn't that he was afraid of the curse exactly; Moody was clearly only making students do silly things. Still, the thought of losing control of his own mind frightened him.

When his turn came, he stepped forward nervously. He heard only the beginning of the incantation before a lovely floaty feeling engulfed him. He felt as though nothing bad would happen to him ever again; part of him liked it.

"Jump on the desk," Moody's voice growled somewhere in his head.

"Of course," Harry thought dreamily to himself. Jumping on desks was only logical, after all. He prepared to jump.

"Why should I jump?" another voice in the back of his mind declared. This one sounded very like his own voice. A moment later, he heard neither voice as a sudden pain gripped him. He had tried to jump and not jump at once and had ended up crashing into the desk; his shins had taken the brunt of the blow.

When Moody lifted the curse, the pain nearly doubled and he winced, picking himself up from the floor where he had fallen. "Well done, Potter!" Moody praised. "Did you see that?" he asked turning to the class. "Potter fought it. Damn near beat it to, not that I'm surprised. Your father could always fight it, though he was never as good as you. Again."

Harry had just enough time to groan before the floaty feeling engulfed him again. By the time he left the class, he could throw it off consistently. The evening he excitedly told James all about it.

"He put you under the Imperius curse?" James shouted.

"Not just me. Everyone," Harry explained.

"Has Dumbledore lost his mind?" James asked.

"Dad," Harry said, exasperated. He rather thought James was missing the point, which was that he had managed to throw it off. "Didn't you hear what I said about throwing it off."

"Yes, I heard you," James said. "And that's very exciting, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not ready to celebrate that someone used an unforgivable on my fourteen-year-old."

"But he lifted it again," Harry offered. "And he said he put you under it once."

"Yes, but that was when I was in auror training. It's a little bit different."

"He said you could fight it," Harry said, hoping to bring the subject back around to the matter at hand.

"Yes, I could. Although I couldn't do it on the first try. It really is very impressive." James smiled a little. "When they made the curses legal for aurors, we were told to practice. I used to practice the Imperius on Sirius. He loved it. Said it was the best feeling. I tried to teach him how to fight it, but he was complete pants at it. Some people are more susceptible to it than others. No one really knows why." James began to laugh. "I made him climb up on the roof and crow like a rooster once. It was quite unforgettable. One of his neighbors called the police. She thought he had gone mad. When I lifted the curse and he found out what I'd done, I thought he was going to murder me."

Harry laughed. "Maybe you should put him under it now and make him stop giving us so much homework. I think he's on a mission to make all our hands fall off."

James gave a sympathetic smile. "Fourth year is a difficult one," he agreed. "I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed then myself."

"Harry, are you ready to go eat?" Ron asked, poking his head into the dormitory.

"I have to go," Harry said. "See you later."

"See you," James said, putting his mirror in his pocket. He turned to Remus who had been sitting across from him. "You heard all of that, I assume?" James asked.

Remus nodded gravely.

"I think I'm going to go have a word with Moody. Showing them was one thing, but this is really too much."

As much as he respected both Dumbledore and Moody, Remus was inclined to agree.

A moment later, Remus was alone in the dining room as James disappeared with a loud pop.

Upon arrival in the castle, he went first to Sirius' quarters. He was half expecting Sirius to be downstairs, but he answered when James knocked. He stood in the doorway, giving James a blank look. "Did I invite you and forget about it?" he asked, looking horrified.

"No," James assured him quickly. "I just dropped by. I'm planning to speak with Moody."

Sirius nodded, ushering James inside. James looked around; his quarters were a mess. "What happened in here?" James asked. Sirius was typically a very good housekeeper. Much better than James was. His parents had beaten meticulous cleanliness into him - literally.

"I know, it's awful isn't it?" Sirius asked. He moved a stack of papers out of a chair so James could sit. "I barely have time to breathe anymore. This book is going to kill me. This morning, I decided to quit the whole thing, but then I got this." He shoved a muggle astronomy magazine under James' nose, opened to an article with a picture of Sirius and a little blurb identifying him as the world's leading expert on comets and noting that the Astronomy world was waiting with baited breath for the publication of his new book, due out in the summer."

"Did you see that? I'm the world's leading expert on comets."

"Must be a shallow pool to choose from," James teased.

Sirius rolled up the magazine and swatted his arm with it. "You're just jealous because you're not the world's leading expert on anything," he shot back. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," James said, taking the Astronomy magazine to peruse. A few moments later, Sirius returned with two cups of boiling water. "Haven't you forgotten something?" James asked.

"Hmm?" Sirius replied, sipping his water. "Rather weak tea, isn't it?"

"This is just water. You've forgotten to put the tea in it."

"Bugger," Sirius exclaimed, jumping up. He returned with two tea bags. "Sorry. I've been a bit distracted lately. All I can think about is comets and mathematics."

James nodded. "Harry says your classes have gotten a bit dry."

"Tell him if he thinks he can do better, he's welcome to teach them. It would free up some time for research."

"You really need a vacation or something."

"I'll take one as soon as I'm finished. As for now, though, there's no time."

James shook his head lightly. He had rarely seen Sirius working so hard at anything; he knew his old friend must be very excited to be pouring so much energy into his study.

"So, how's Moody doing?" James asked.

Sirius pursed his lips. "I'm not entirely sure. I haven't had much of a chance to talk to him. The students are all completely enamored of him."

"Harry, too?"

"I can't tell. I've been neglecting him horribly, I'm afraid. I think he understands, though." He looked up at James, his face slightly panicked. "Do you think he understands?"

"I'm sure he does."

"When all this is done, I'll take him somewhere fun to make it up to him."

When James left Sirius' quarters, he was every bit as uncomfortable as when he arrived. He still hadn't quite managed to shake the feeling that something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly why he should have such a feeling.

"What are _you _doing here?" a familiarly unpleasant voice came from behind James. James turned and was not at all surprised to see Snape standing there.

"I came to see Sirius, if you must know," James said. It wasn't entirely true, but he didn't trust Snape enough to tell him his true concerns, no matter what Dumbledore said. Old habits die hard.

"And it has nothing to do with the fact that your son was put under the Imperius curse this afternoon?" Snape raised one eyebrow, looking at James appraisingly.

"What do you know about it?" James asked, suddenly more interested in Snape than he had ever been before.

"Not much," Snape replied. "Except that your hero, Moody, has been threatening everything that moves with a stint in Azkaban."

"That sounds like him," James replied tersely, trying to decide if it was wise to share his concerns with his old enemy.

"He's terrorizing the students."

James bit back a surge of annoyance. He thought it was rather rich for Snape to criticize someone else for terrorizing the students when he seemed to spend most of his time taking his longtime grudge against James on Harry. "Yes, Mr. pot, that is a very black kettle," James snapped.

"I have never transfigured a student into a ferret!" Snape spat.

"Only because you know you'd be sacked if you tried it!" James retorted.

Snape's face twisted in anger, and James braced himself for the verbal onslaught he knew from experience was coming. He was surprised when it didn't. Instead, Snape's face softened a little. "I care about the students, you know. I know you don't think I do, but I do."

James wasn't sure how to respond to that. He settled for a curt nod. "I have to go."

Before Snape could offer another protest, James turned and made his way to Moody's office as quickly as he could without running. He wasn't expecting Moody to be there, either, but he was. His craggy face brightened when he saw James. "Potter!" he said, almost cheerfully for Moody.

Seeing him brought James' temper to the surface. He stuck his face very close to Moody, focusing on the man's good eye. "Just where do you get off casting curses on my son!"

To his surprise, Moody laughed.

"It's not funny, Alastor! You put my child under the Imperius curse."

"Would you like to come in?" Moody asked suddenly. James was momentarily taken aback. "You can keep shouting at me, if you like. But if this is going to go on for awhile, I'd like to sit. My leg's killing me." He turned and flopped down in an armchair, leaving James standing in the doorway. "You coming?" he called.

James came in a shut the door.

"By the way," Moody said, taking off his wooden leg and propping it against the side of his chair, "the Weasley clones informed me that you told them I blew off my own bum."

"They didn't," James exclaimed, feeling defensive for a moment before he remembered that he had come here to shout, not be shouted at. "No changing the subject. What were you thinking about putting fourth years under the Imperius curse?"

"You'd rather they find out what it feels like when a Death Eater uses it on them?" Moody asked. He lifted up a little on his good leg and grabbed his hop flask, taking a swig from it and replacing it in a single fluid motion.

James narrowed his eyes at his old mentor. "It's not appropriate for someone so young," he insisted.

"You're right, but unfortunately the world doesn't wait for people to grow up before throwing difficulties their way. You know how old I was when Grindelwald killed my family?"

James sighed. He really didn't want to hear this story again. "I was eleven!" Moody barked. "My youngest sister was two, and he killed her right along with the rest of them. I was here at Hogwarts or I'd have been killed alongside them! Voldemort won't wait until they're of age to try to use them. How old were you when he asked you to join?"

"I wasn't fourteen!"

"You weren't much older, though, were you? CONSTANT VIGILANCE, POTTER!"

James continued to protest, but he knew the fight was lost. Moody had always had a pronounced talent for silencing dissension in the ranks.

Shouting turned slowly to reminiscing, and before James knew it, the hour had grown late. "Pour me a glass of firewhiskey," Moody ordered. "I just bought some from Rosmerta. Once I open, it, though, who knows who will tamper with it, so I need help drinking it."

"I thought you didn't like firewhiskey," James said, getting up to obey.

"It's grown on my since my retirement. Pour yourself a glass as well."

"No, thank you," James replied. "I've sworn it off for awhile."

Moody nodded knowingly, then his face went grave. "You'll be interested to know that your son is outside, with a Weasley and that muggle girl he's always hanging around. The one who never shuts up."

"That would be Hermione Granger," James said. "What's Harry doing out? It's past curfew, isn't it?" He looked at his pocket watch. It was well past curfew.

"Sneaking, by the looks of it. Uh-oh."

"What?"

"Filch is coming, and they haven't realized it yet."

James went to the door quickly and opened it. Harry and his friends turned, anxiety on their faces at having been caught. "Dad?" Harry asked.

"Shh. Filch is coming," James whispered. He motioned hurriedly for the kids to come. "Get in here."

Harry and the others didn't need to be told twice. They rushed into Moody's quarters, and James closed the door just as Filch rounded the corner. "What do you think you're doing?" James demanded, turning to face them, his face serious.

"We're going to the kitchens," Ron explained sheepishly.

"We're going to talk to the house elves," Hermione said proudly.

James looked sternly at Harry. "Have I taught you nothing about how to be sneaky? Walking down the corridor brazen as can be is the best way to get caught. You have to stay in the shadows, hide out in classrooms, that sort of thing."

"I didn't have to do all that when I had the invisibility cloak," Harry said hopefully.

James shook his head. "No way am I giving that thing back to you."

"I can see through them anyway," Moody added in a low growl.

Harry looked at Moody as though just noticing he was there. "Hello, Professor."

"Evening," Moody said in a tone that sounded almost amicable for Moody.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" Harry asked, eying James warily.

"Your professor and I were just having a bit of a discussion."

"You weren't shouting at him, were you?" Harry asked, almost wincing as he imagined the response.

"Of course not. I never shout," James responded innocently.

Moody snorted. "If he'd been shouting any louder, the locals probably would have marched up here with pitchforks thinking the castle was under attack."

"Dad!" Harry scolded.

"If someone put your son under the Imperius curse, you'd shout too," James said defensively. "So, Hermione, talking to the house elves, eh? What about?"

"I'm going to try to get them to join S.P.E.W.," she told James proudly.

Moody scoffed. "Good luck with that."

"Would you like to join, Mr. Potter?" Hermione asked hopefully, ignoring Moody's derision.

"I don't think so, Hermione. I'd be doing them a disservice. They don't want to be freed."

"Of course they do," Hermione replied dismissively. "They just don't know it yet."

"Why do you think you know what they want better than they do?" James asked.

Hermione was caught off her guard. She stood stuttering for a moment trying to think of a response.

"Suppose someone came along who decided that students are all slaves and kidnapped you out of your bed one night so you could be 'free'. Would you appreciate it?"

"That's not the same," Hermione protested.

"It is the same. I'm telling you, they like it. They don't want to be freed. And for you to go around advocating something for them that they don't even want is, well, disingenuous."

"But what about Dobby?" she asked, although she looked a little less sure of herself.

"Dobby is an anomaly. You know, maybe it's not a bad idea for you to go to the kitchens after all. But promise me you'll actually talk to the house elves and truly listen to what they have to say?"

Hermione nodded, blushing slightly. James felt a touch sorry for her; her heart was in the right place, after all. He decided to tell her so, and she brightened considerably before suggesting that maybe Dobby could convince the others that they wanted to be freed and charging off toward the kitchens.

Harry shook his head after she had gone and turned to his father, exasperated. "There's no talking to her."

"You should go make sure she doesn't terrorize the poor things too much," James said sagely. "And remember, stick to the shadows."

"And don't go just yet. Filch is about to make another sweep," Moody added. After a few minutes of idle chit-chat, Moody gave the all-clear and Harry and Ron took off, keeping to the shadows just as they had been told.

* * *

_AN: I finally did that rewrite of chapter 7 that I've been saying I was going to do for about two months now. Most of the details are the same, except for the breakup between James and Bronwyn. It's a bit more in character now, and I like it, so it won't be changing again. Thanks everyone for being patient about that. I know it was a little weird, but I guess sometimes life is a little weird.  
_


	12. Friendship Under Fire

"Did you see Fred and George," Ginny asked, seating herself next to Harry in the Great Hall.

Ron began to chuckle. "I saw them."

"I didn't," Dean interrupted. "What happened?"

"They tried to put their names in the Goblet of Fire even though they're underage, and they grew beards!" Ginny reported. She looked as though she had been waiting all morning to tell someone that piece of news.

Everyone listening laughed at the idea just as Angelina Johnson walked in and sat down. "I've just done it," she said. "I've just put my name in."

"That's great!" Harry replied enthusiastically. "I really hope you're chosen."

"You'd be way better than pretty boy Cedric Diggory," Ron mumbled, his eyes following Cedric as he walked in.

The representatives from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived the evening before and the Goblet of Fire had been lit. At the Halloween feast that evening, it would be choosing the three champions, one from each school, who would compete in the tournament. Harry was excited to see who would represent Hogwarts.

Classes that day seemed to drag as minutes lasted for hours. Once, he even swore he saw the clock in Transfiguration move backward.

Soon enough, the feast arrived. Harry sat with Ron, who was watching the Slytherin table. Viktor Krum had been one of the students to arrive from Durmstrang. Ron stared openly at him now, wondering if he'd give him an autograph. Before long, Ron began to stare at a different student instead: a very beautiful girl from Beauxbatons who seemed to have put most of the boys in the castle under her spell. Harry jumped when Madame Maxime, the gigantic Beauxbatons headmistress walked into the hall and all the students from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A titter went through the tables, but the Beauxbatons students did not budge an inch until Madame Maxime sat down next to Hagrid, who was wearing a horrible, hairy, brown suit and had tried to slick down his hair with what looked like axle grease. He blushed as she asked him to pass the butter and got so nervous he spilled pumpkin juice all over his plate.

Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster from Durmstrang, followed, walking beside Dumbledore. He wore a scowl on his face, and his smile never seemed to reach his eyes. Something about him made Harry's skin crawl. When he sat, it was between Sirius and Snape. Sirius ignored him completely, turning to speak to Professor Flitwick. Snape chatted with him amicably. When he saw Harry watching, he glared. Harry quickly looked at his plate. He hardly noticed when Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman entered the hall and made their way to the teacher's table.

At the end of the feast, a hush descended upon the crowd as the Goblet of Fire was brought in. Dumbledore stood to speak. The entire student body leaned in closely, hanging on his every word.

"Ladies and gentleman, the moment we have been waiting for. Any moment now, the Goblet of Fire will tell us who will compete in this year's Triwizard Tournament." Harry's heart was beating quickly in anticipation; he really hoped someone from Gryffindor would be chosen.

The Goblet began to sputter very suddenly, and a charred slip of paper flew out of it. Dumbledore caught it and cleared his throat. "The champion from Beauxbatons Academy is Miss Fleur Delacour."

The beautiful girl from Beauxbatons stood just as many of her classmates burst into tears. She followed Dumbledore's instructions and made her way to the front of the hall and to a small side door just as the Goblet sputtered again.

"The champion for Durmstrang institute is Mr. Viktor Krum."

There was wild applause as Krum stood and followed Fleur Delacour. Harry clapped politely. He felt very sympathetic toward Krum; he, Harry, hated it when people gawked at him. "Hogwarts next," he whispered to Ron.

"The champion for Hogwarts School is Mr. Cedric Diggory," Dumbledore read after he had caught the last slip of paper. Cedric rose, looking unsure of himself, as Hufflepuff table exploded in applause.

"It should have been Angelina," Ron muttered.

Harry shrugged. He thought it was high time Hufflepuff house got a little bit of glory. It seemed to happen to them so rarely.

"Congratulations to all our champions. I know you will all join with your fellow students in supporting your school's representative," Dumbledore announced. The Goblet of Fire cut him off as it sputtered again, releasing another slip of paper. Dumbledore reached out and caught it as it fluttered toward the ground. He looked at it for a moment before reading out the name upon it. "Harry Potter."

Harry blinked, sure he hadn't heard correctly. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Well, Harry, go on," Dumbledore said. He did not sound happy. His ears buzzing, his cheeks burning, and his eyes downcast, Harry rose and followed the other champions.

No sooner had he stepped through the little side door than Sirius was there at his side. Harry had never been so happy to see his godfather in his life.

"Did you bring us a message," Cedric asked. "Are we supposed to go back out."

Harry shook his head. "No, I... I'm a champion, too," he stuttered, trying to force it to make sense.

"Don't worry," Sirius said, looking as though he were worried enough for the both of them. "We'll get it sorted out." He put an arm across Harry's shoulder and pulled him close, holding him protectively. "It'll be all right," he whispered.

Dumbledore walked through the door at that moment, with the heads of the other schools accompanying him and complaining loudly, demanding to know why Hogwarts had two champions.

"I've been wondering that myself," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry.

"I didn't put my name in," Harry said quickly.

"Of course he didn't," Sirius agreed. It wasn't the first time Harry found himself thankful that Sirius was at Hogwarts.

Moody thumped in just as Karkaroff demanded to be allowed to resubmit his students' names so that each school could have two champions.

"Don't be a fool, Karkaroff," Moody barked, causing everyone in the room to jump. "You know full well you can't submit any more names. You're just complaining to have something to complain about."

"This is an outrage!" Maxime insisted.

"The only person who has any right to be outraged here is Potter, but he seems to be taking it rather well. Do you honestly think a fourth year could have got past Dumbledore's age line. Someone else had to have put his name in. Not only that, but someone had to have confunded the Goblet of Fire in order to make it think there were four schools. That's no simple magical object. Only a very powerful dark wizard could have done it."

Sirius pulled Harry closer. "He will not be competing," Sirius said assuredly.

Dumbledore sighed. "He hasn't got much choice. Putting your name into the Goblet constitutes the signing of a binding magical contract."

"But I didn't put my name in!" Harry cried.

"That won't matter," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "The Goblet doesn't know that."

"But I don't want to be in the tournament. I was supposed to have a nice, quiet year."

Dumbledore smiled bleakly. "I know."

As soon as Dumbledore had soothed the other heads' hurt feelings, the meeting moved to business as Crouch informed the champions of the rules and the date of the first task, November 24th. He would not tell them what the task was.

"The first task is designed to test your daring. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard."

The second he was allowed, Harry bolted to the Great Hall. He found Ginny, Ron, and Hermione waiting for him.

"How did you get your name in?" Ron asked.

"I didn't, since you asked," Harry answered waspishly. He was in no mood for one of Ron's fits of jealousy.

Sirius came up and sat next to him at the Gryffindor table just as Hermione exclaimed, "Of course he didn't!"

"Okay, sure," Ron said, sounding as though he weren't at all sure.

Sirius leveled a glare at him. "Do you honestly believe that Harry would put his name in and lie to you about it?" he asked.

Ron shrugged.

"A shrug is not an answer, Weasley," Sirius snapped.

"Then, yes, I do," Ron said sourly.

"Sirius, you don't have to-" Harry began.

Sirius cut him off, still staring sternly at Ron. "Harry's your best mate. You ought to know him better than that by now. When has he ever excluded you from one of his adventures? Hmm?"

"Never," Ron admitted, looking at the table. The tips of his ears were beginning to turn pink. "But-"

"No buts," Sirius interrupted. "He's never excluded you before. Has he ever lied to you?"

"No, but-"

"So, he's never excluded you, and never lied to you, but you still think he would randomly decided to do both all at once just to compete in a tournament he doesn't even want to be in?"

Ron's face was bright red. "I guess not," he muttered. He got up and left very quickly.

Sirius pursed his lips. "He'll come around."

"I'm going to bed." He stood and made to leave the hall. Sirius stood with him and snagged him as he walked by, pulling him close.

"Try not to worry," he whispered in Harry's ear. "We'll figure something out, and if your friend gives you too much trouble, just tell me and I'll hex him for you."

Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius. "I'm glad you're here," he said.

"Do you really think Ron will come around?" Harry asked Ginny as they walked up to Gryffindor tower.

She assured him that he would. "He's just jealous," she said. "He'll get over it once he's done sulking." Harry hoped that was true, but he had seen Ron hold a few grudges in his day; he certainly hoped this wasn't going to be one of those times when his pride kept him from making amends.

Ron was already in bed with the draperies shut when Harry arrived in the dormitory; he snored theatrically when Harry called his name. Harry sighed and climbed into bed, but sleep was a long time in coming.

The next morning, he woke very early to something landing on his legs. He sat straight up in bed, yelling.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry reached for his glasses and found Dobby sitting on his legs.

"Dobby? What are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore has sent Dobby to fetch Harry Potter!" Dobby said excitedly.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Harry Potter's father is here."

Harry closed his eyes. "Is he angry?"

Dobby nodded gravely. "James Potter is shouting at Mr. Dumbledore," he whispered.

Harry groaned. He really wished his father would stop shouting at people on his behalf. He dressed slowly and followed Dobby to Dumbledore's office. He felt sort of like a chicken walking into the fox's den. He made small talk with Dobby to calm his nerves.

"So you got a job here, then?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter's father gave Dobby a recommendation Now Dobby works here and is getting paying. And Dobby has every Tuesday off."

"That's great, Dobby," Harry said just as they arrived at the staircase that would lead to Dumbledore's office. The second the stone gargoyle leapt aside to admit him, he could already hear James protesting.

"Are you telling me that you allowed my fourteen year old to sign a binding magical contract?"

"Allowed would be a bit strong, James. In fact, I did everything I could to prevent it," Dumbledore replied. He sounded calm at least. Harry climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Come," Dumbledore called.

Harry walked in and immediately looked into his fathers face. "I didn't put my name in," he said.

"I know," James replied. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Harry, kissing the top of his head. "Are you all right?" he asked, his face filling with concern.

Harry nodded. James took a deep breath and looked at Dumbledore, not letting Harry go. "There's really nothing you can do to keep him out of the tournament?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "The age line was supposed to prevent anyone underage from entering. The Goblet itself doesn't care. People as young as Harry have competed in the past."

"I'm taking him home," James pronounced

"I don't think that's the wisest decision, James." This time it was Sirius who spoke. He had been nearly completely hidden in the large armchair where he sat, and was so quiet that Harry didn't even realize he was there.

"It's wiser than letting him compete in a tournament where people have died," James snapped.

"We're taking every precaution to ensure that the champions are safe," Dumbledore said. Harry got the feeling from his tone that it wasn't the first time during this conversation he had said those exact words.

"Well, one of the precautions was supposed to be making sure no one could compete who wasn't of age. Since you failed at that, how am I supposed to believe any of your other precautions will work?" James snapped.

"James, you know what the contract means," Sirius said quietly. He spoke slowly, as though weighing every word. "Taking him home won't solve anything."

James whipped his head rapidly between Sirius and Dumbledore. His eyes finally stopped on Harry. "You have to participate," he said. "But you don't have to compete. When the first task comes, I want you to forfeit." He looked up at Dumbledore. "Will that hurt the precious contract?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I think that's an acceptable loophole." He looked almost relieved.

"But Dad, everyone will think I'm a coward!" Harry protested.

"No one will think that."

"Yes, they will!" Harry interrupted. "They'll think I'm forfeiting because I'm afraid!"

James huffed. "Harry, I'm sorry, but I am not overly concerned with what people think. I'm far more concerned about keeping you alive. You're going to forfeit, and I don't want to hear any more arguments."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to bite down his temper. He wasn't a weakling, after all.

James put a hand on each of Harry's shoulders and bent down to look him in the eye. "Harry, someone is trying to hurt you. Don't you understand that?"

"Yes," Harry said, pouting. "But I'm not helpless. I can take care of myself."

"No one's saying you can't," Sirius said from the armchair. "But this tournament is nothing to sneeze at. No one is doubting you or your abilities, Harry. It's not a question of talent; it's a question of experience, and you simply haven't got as much as the other champions."

"Really?" Harry asked sarcastically, his temper rising. "Have any of them rescued a Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort or killed a basilisk?"

"You got bitten when you killed that basilisk, if you'll recall," James said firmly. "If it weren't for Fawkes, you'd have died."

"But I would have taken it with me," Harry argued.

"You think that makes it okay?" James cried.

"Dad," Harry pleaded.

James shook his head. "You're going to forfeit."

"Dad! I'm not a baby!" Harry shouted.

Sirius cleared his throat loudly and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "full body bind".

Harry stopped arguing. "Okay," he said glumly. "I'll forfeit. But can I at least stay here?"

"Absolutely not. The person who put your name in could very well be here in the castle. That means you're not safe here."

"He is safe here," Dumbledore cut in. "None of my staff would try to hurt him."

James narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. "Every time something like this happens, you tell me he'll be safe here, but he never is."

"I want to stay with my friends. Please, Dad."

"Friends are important," Sirius said, so softly that it was nearly inaudible.

James closed his eyes a for moment. "Okay, you can stay," he relented. "But if there's even the slightest sign of trouble, I'm pulling you out."

Harry nodded his agreement. He couldn't say he liked the arrangement, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

James walked with him out of the office, one hand protectively on his shoulder. When they were out of sight of the gargoyle, James pulled him into an empty classroom. "Harry, I'm really sorry about this. I sympathize about the forfeiting. I do. And I wouldn't have been too happy about it if someone had made me forfeit at something like this when I was your age, but it's far too dangerous. I can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. I just, well, I just can't. Okay?"

Harry nodded.

"I love you!" James said fiercely, pulling him into a tight hug. "And I worry about you."

"I know," Harry said, nodding into his father's chest. "And I love you, too. Even when you're overprotective and shout at all my professors."

James gave a little laugh. "Me? Shout?" he asked. "Never."

"I should get to breakfast," Harry muttered forlornly.

"Tell you what. This Saturday, I'll come get you and we'll spend the day in London. We'll go to a few museums, eat curry so hot it'll burn coming out, and spend obscene amounts of money at Quality Quidditch Supplies. How does that sound?"

"Good," Harry told him.

James released him and walked with him to the front door. "You be safe," James ordered. "And if you start to get the feeling that anything is wrong or that you're in trouble, call me, okay? You don't need to be a hero."

"I will," Harry assured him. "I promise."

They said their goodbyes, and James watched as Harry walked into breakfast. He wasn't at all sure that letting Harry stay was the right decision. Indeed, he was quite sure it wasn't, but he hated to take Harry away from his friends again. He shook his head. Couldn't the world give his kid a break?

"Rough morning?" a gruff voice behind him asked. He turned to see Moody standing there.

"You've no idea," James said.

Moody gazed into the hall, staring at Harry. "I'll look out for him," he said. "I promise you, I will do everything I can to keep him safe."

James nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It makes me feel better knowing you're looking out for him."

"The only way anyone will harm one hair on his head will be over my dead body," Moody growled. "And I'm too damn mean to die."

James gave a small laugh. "Truer words were never spoken."

"Watch it, Potter," Moody warned. "I'll never be too old to take you in a duel."

James said nothing. He knew full well it was true. He was still terrified for Harry, but knowing Moody was there helped ease his anxiety. He knew Moody would fight for Harry. In fact, between Moody and Sirius, the poor boy would probably never get a moment's peace. Both of them would have died before they let anything happen to James' son.

At that moment, Harry looked up at James. He gave a small smile before turning back to his friends. He was fighting the urge to go back and tell his dad that he wanted to go home after all. Ron had decided to stop speaking to him.


	13. Providence and Pistachios

The next day, Ron was still refusing to speak to Harry. Ginny claimed he was pouting because Sirius, by far his favorite professor, had scolded him, and he blamed Harry. The two of them sat at breakfast with Hermione between them trying desperately to make conversation, but both boys stubbornly refused to give in. Classes were equally tense. Harry sat with Neville for most of the day, leaving Ron and Hermione alone. Hermione still tried to get them to make up; she spent most of Potions hissing at the two of them in such a steady stream that Seamus kept checking his cauldron for leaks. Then she was so upset she messed up her potion. Snape looked as though Christmas had come early as he berated her for having made an error.

"Leave her alone!" Harry snapped. "It's the first time she's ever made a mistake in here, and she only did it because I was bothering her." Harry thought it was well worth the detention he got to get Snape to leave Hermione alone.

At lunch, Harry tried once again to explain to Ron that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet, but Ron refused to listen. Instead, he picked up his plate melodramatically and went to sit with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who looked none too thrilled to have him.

"Sorry our brother's being such a git," Fred told Harry when lunch was over.

Harry shrugged.

"He'll get over it," George assured Harry. "Being cross, that is. I think it's too late for him on the git front."

"I can hear you, you know!" Ron said, from his seat at the table.

"We meant you to," Fred snapped, turning to glare at him. "And you shouldn't interrupt when the grown-ups are talking."

"See you, Harry," George said. "We're rooting for you, even if some people-" here George turned to glare at Ron, "are not".

By dinnertime, things had deteriorated so badly that Ron wouldn't even look at Harry, and he seemed to have decided to stop speaking to Hermione and Ginny just for good measure. He sat with Dean and Seamus. Harry belligerently sat across from him, Ginny on one side and Hermione on the other, and carried on a too-hearty conversation with the two of them. Ginny spent most of the meal trying to talk sense into Ron, and occasionally getting so frustrated she kicked him under the table, until he finally shouted, "Why don't you just stuff it? I don't know what you see in him anyway! He's just a ruddy show-off".

Harry's temper flared. Before he even knew what was happening, he grabbed the spoon in the mashed potatoes and flung them at Ron. They hit him square in the face.

"All right!" George cheered.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione shrieked.

Ron jumped up when the potatoes hit him. He wiped his hands over his face, slinging the remnants of potatoes that stuck to his fingers on the floor. Then he grabbed a handful of peas and threw them at Harry. Harry dodged them easily - Ron was still partially blinded by the potatoes, after all - before launching himself across the table with every intention of strangling his former best mate. The peas hit a Hufflepuff third year, who immediately turned to see what was happening. The Hufflepuffs were none too happy with the Gryffindors at the moment, and the Hufflepuff believed one of the Gryffindors had purposely thrown peas at their table. He picked up a roll and launched it toward the Gryffindor table, where it bounced off Fred's head.

Fred, who had been watching the commotion happily a moment before, now dropped his smile. He picked up an entire bowl of carrots and slung them toward the Hufflepuffs. From then on, it was complete pandemonium. Within moments, all the students from all four houses were throwing as much food as they could hold as quickly as they could get their hands on it. Teachers scurried into the fray to try and calm their students, but there was no stopping the momentum. Even McGonagall's threats and warnings went unheeded. Snape began sloping toward Ron and Harry intending to jerk them up and turn them both into an object lesson for the other students.

In later years, Harry would swear it was a Hufflepuff who did it, although Snape always believed Harry himself must have had something to do with it. At the moment that it happened, however, Harry was so distracted trying to punch every inch of Ron he could reach that he was hardly aware of the events going on around him.

He certainly wasn't aware of the hush that went through the hall as all eyes locked onto a bowl of pistachio pudding that went sailing through the air, or the collective gasp as it flipped in the air and landed perfectly on Snape's head. Neither was he aware of the almost visible fury rolling off of him in waves as green goo dripped from his nose and the ends of his hair. Harry only became aware that anything had happened at all when Snape knocked the bowl off his head, causing it to shatter on the ground and, shaking with rage, let out a primal scream. "POTTER!"

Harry and Ron stopped rolling around on the ground and stared at Snape, their faces nearly-identical masks of sudden panic. Snape stalked toward them, but Sirius was faster. He rushed past Snape, grabbed Ron and Harry by their arms, pulled them both up, and ushered them out of the Great Hall as Snape's snarls of, "They're mine, Black!" chased them all the way up the stairs.

Harry had to trot to keep up with Sirius as he pulled them up the stairs. The second they were in his office, he shut the door and rounded on them. "Explain yourselves. Now."

Both of them began talking at once.

"Ron said I'm a show off and Ginny shouldn't go out with me-"

"Harry threw his potatoes at me for no reason and he punched me first-"

"Okay, stop!" Sirius ordered. Both boys fell silent. Harry thought he had never seen Sirius so angry. At first, he had been glad when he realized it was Sirius who had him. Now he thought he might rather face Snape. He didn't care if Snape was angry with him; the thought of Sirius being angry with him made him feel like there were worms crawling around in his belly.

"Weasley, you first."

"Harry threw potatoes at me, and all I did was ask my sister a question."

"That's a lie!" Harry bellowed.

"Be quiet, Potter!" Sirius ordered. Harry winced. Sirius had never addressed him as "Potter" outside of class before. He turned to Ron. "What did you ask her?"

Ron mumbled his answer. "Sorry, I couldn't quite hear you?" Sirius said, cupping a hand behind his ear.

"I asked her what she sees in a show-off like Harry," Ron admitted.

"I see," Sirius said, nodding. "And this was a completely innocent question that wasn't in the slightest intended to hurt your friend?"

Ron didn't answer; he looked at the ground and drew circles on the floor with his toe.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Weasley." Ron jerked his head up. "Did it ever occur to you that your friend needs you right now? He did not put his name in the Goblet, no matter what you may think. He couldn't have done. The thing is not possible. Someone put his name in because they're trying to hurt him, possibly even kill him, and you're running around whinging because, what? You want a piece of the action? You should be ashamed of yourself treating your friend like that. Best mates aren't something you just stumble across every day. Do you understand me?"

Ron nodded.

"I verbal answer, if you please," Sirius snapped.

"Yes, sir," Ron said, blushing furiously.

"Now, I'm not going to force you to make up with your friend. I know it wouldn't do any good if I tried, but if you've got half a brain, you'll do it on your own, and quickly. I expect you to be here tomorrow evening at seven o' clock for detention. You are dismissed."

Ron looked shocked by the abruptness of the dismissal. He stood stock still for a moment before turning to leave, shooting Harry a tiny, embarrassed glance as he went.

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said when Ron was gone.

"Don't thank me yet," Sirius said sternly. "I agree that you were provoked, but it's still unacceptable to start fights, of either the food or fist variety. I don't care what he did to you; you had no cause to lash out at him like that. Friendship works both way, even when your friend is being an idiot. Especially if your friend is being an idiot. And that's not to even mention the fact that you pulled the rest of the school into your quarrel and made us look bad in front of our international guests. Think about how embarrassed Dumbledore must be. I am very disappointed in you."

Harry could feel his face growing hot. Dumbledore hadn't looked particularly humiliated. He looked as though he were having the time of his life. Harry had seen him reach up to snag a thrown roll and take a bite of it happily.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, hanging his head.

"That's lovely, but it doesn't change what you did. You have to think before you act, Potter. Especially if you're going compete in the tournament. You will also report to my office at seven o'clock tomorrow evening for detention. Dismissed."

Harry hesitated. Sirius had never given him detention before, and he had certainly never dismissed him so curtly after scolding him before. He always knew Sirius was strict on trouble-makers, but he never would have expected it to be him. He was beginning to understand how Sirius kept such tight control in class despite being so laid back. "Sirius?" he questioned.

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry."

"Then prove it by learning your lesson," Sirius said firmly. "Now get to your common room. And close the door behind you."

"But-"

"Now!"

Harry startled when Sirius raised his voice. Sirius rarely scolded Harry, and it was even less common for him to raise his voice while doing so. Usually just knowing he had made his easy-going godfather angry enough to scold him at all made the point abundantly clear. Harry wasn't sure he could ever remember Sirius shouting at him. He swallowed hard, staring at Sirius a moment. Sirius' attentions were already elsewhere. On his book, probably. Harry was beginning to wish he'd never come up with that stupid theorem. With a heavy heart, he turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him.

Ron was waiting for him in the corridor. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said. "I guess I was feeling a little jealous."

Harry nodded. He had worked that out for himself.

"Only you always get to do all the cool things," Ron said. "You faced Voldemort. You killed the basilisk. You even got to help capture Pettigrew. And while you were doing all of that, all I did was fall down. Sometimes I feel like the sidekick in stories who's only there for comic relief."

Harry let out a small laugh.

"You laughing at me isn't going to make me feel better. Do you have any idea what it's like to feel like you're always second fiddle in your own life?"

Harry shook his head. He hadn't really thought about it that way. "But this isn't a story, Ron. This is real life, and besides, I keep telling you the things I do are not that cool. I'd much rather be able to sit on the sidelines. I'm jealous of you, sometimes, actually."

"Really? Of me?"

Harry nodded as Ron seemed to think on that.

"Friends?" Ron asked shyly after a moment, holding out a hand.

"Always," Harry agreed as he shook hands with Ron.

"Do you really think someone's trying to kill you?" Ron asked as they started toward Gryffindor tower.

"Isn't someone always trying to kill me?" Harry asked back.

"I suppose that is true." He brightened. "Hey, we got off pretty lucky, yeah? Only one detention."

"But he yelled at us," Harry said glumly. "Sirius never yells."

"We sort of deserved it, though," Ron admitted. "We did start a food fight."

"Yeah," Harry agreed forlornly. "But still."

"At least you know detention won't be so bad," Ron offered.

"Oh no!" Harry groaned as he stopped suddenly.

"What?" Ron asked, turning to face him.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I was supposed to spend the day with my dad. Now I'll have to be back for detention!"

"Ask your dad to explain it to Sirius. He'll probably let you reschedule. I mean, honestly. It's Sirius."

Harry nodded absently, trying to tell himself that Ron was right. James would be able to talk Sirius into rescheduling, although he wasn't entirely sure his father would do that. When Remus was tutoring Harry his second year, James resolutely refused to interfere when Remus punished him, even when Harry suspected James thought the punishments were unfair or too harsh.

Hermione met them at the portrait hole. She had potatoes in her hair. Harry looked around the room and saw that most of the students were at least partially covered in foodstuffs. He suspected it would have struck him as funny if his ears weren't still ringing from Sirius' reprimand.

"Bloody brilliant, starting a food fight," George told Harry enthusiastically.

"I wish we'd thought of it first," Fred agreed.

"Hey, why did we never think of it?" George asked.

"Maybe it was too obvious," Fred suggested.

George nodded. "That must be it. Do you reckon there are any other obvious things we're missing?"

"Probably," Fred said.

George thought. "We should try to think of them, then." The two of them wandered away discussing decorating the Great Hall with toilet paper.

"Was Sirius angry? He looked angry," Hermione said.

Harry nodded. "He was angry. He lectured for a long time."

Hermione was sympathetic, saying she couldn't imagine how upset she'd be if Sirius lectured her. Harry was inclined to agree with her assessment. As much as she fancied him, she'd probably be devastated if he so much as took a point off of her.

Harry took a shower and put on clean clothes and then allowed himself to be cheered with gobstones alongside Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.

The next morning, he was to meet his father in the Entrance Hall after breakfast. When he came out, James was there, deep in conversation with Dumbledore. When he saw Harry, he smiled brightly. "There's my champion," he said. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded while James said goodbye to Dumbledore.

"Why so glum?" James asked as they made their way across the grounds.

"I have to be back at seven o' clock tonight for detention with Sirius."

"Sirius gave you detention? Why?"

"I sort of started a food fight last night," Harry confessed. He looked up at his father. "I didn't mean to. I was only trying to make Ron shut up."

James turned down the corners of his mouth in a slightly suppressed smile. "Perfectly understandable," he said.

"But then Sirius shouted at me and gave us detention. And he called me 'Potter'. He's never done that before."

"Doesn't he always call you 'Potter' in class?" James asked.

"Well, yes, but this wasn't in class. He's never called me that outside of class before."

"He was probably trying to keep up appearances in front of Ron," James suggested.

"Maybe," Harry agreed, but he wasn't so sure. Sirius had been awfully angry.

"He's been ignoring me all term. He hardly said two words to me before my name came out of the Goblet. And he hasn't threatened to turn me into anything in the longest time."

James threw an arm around Harry's shoulder. "He's bitten off more than he can chew with this book deal. I think he thought is was going to be like writing an extended essay, and he used to pound through essays in a few hours when we were in school, but this is much more involved than that. He's been making himself crazy worrying about getting everything done."

Harry stared at the ground as they walked. His dad squeezed his shoulder. He was glad to be getting away for a little while.

"So, tell me about this food fight," James said lightly.

Harry brightened as he told about it, ending the story melodramatically with the flying pistachio pudding.

James groaned. "Why did it have to be pistachio pudding?" He looked down at Harry, smiling. "Sirius and I started a food fight once. We were angry at Snape, so I threw a pie in his face, and Sirius dumped an entire bowl of pistachio pudding on his head. I thought McGonagall was going to murder us."

"Did she cane you?" Harry asked, suspecting he already knew what the answer would be.

"No, she only did that when we did something dangerous. But she did call our parents, which may have been worse. Sirius' father came and acted like an ass right there in front of everybody. Then my father came and fussed at us about making a mess for the house elves to clean up."

"Oh, I didn't think about that," Harry said.

"Neither did we," James admitted. "My dad used to always say that you could tell a lot about a person by the way he treats his inferiors. He always said if you really wanted to know a man, you should ask his children and his house elves. I wouldn't worry about it; I know that probably wasn't the first thing on your mind. I know how it can be when someone insults your girlfriend; I got in a fair few fights over Lily in my day. But it is a problem for the elves if they have an unexpected mess. Especially if it's a large one. Then they have to work that much harder to catch up with all the things they should have been doing while they were cleaning the remnants of dinner off the walls."

Harry felt, if possible, even worse. "I'm sorry," he said.

James squeezed his shoulder again. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Harry. I was trying to cheer you up, although I suppose I'm not doing a very good job of it."

Harry shook his head. "Now I just feel sorry for the house elves."

"Well, it's done with now. We'll have you back in time for detention, and I don't see any point in worrying about it anymore. We're supposed to be having fun today. Got it?"

"Got it," Harry replied with an emphatic nod, hoping he could manage to throw off the last vestiges of his bad mood.

"And besides," James offered. "Sirius probably only gave you detention to keep up appearances and save you from Snape. I bet you anything he lets you do something fun. He'll probably just have you and Ron play exploding snap for an hour or something, and then make you tell everyone you had to write a million lines."

Harry smiled a little. That would be like his godfather, but somehow he didn't think it would be the case. James hadn't been there to hear Sirius shout.

When they arrived at the gate, James took Harry's arm, and they apparated together to Diagon Alley. "Where to first?" James asked cheerfully.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies," Harry suggested.

"A fine choice," James said approvingly. "You're pretty smart, for a Hogwarts champion."

He mussed Harry's hair. "Dad," Harry said, pulling away and running his fingers through his hair to straighten it.

"You're fighting a losing battle there," James said casually. "Take it from me." He ran his fingers through his own hair until it stuck up in all directions. "There. Now we match. I used to wear it like this on purpose, you know. Drove the girls wild; they always thought I'd just got off my broomstick."

Harry thought about that for a moment, and decided driving girls wild wouldn't be such a bad thing, especially if the girl was Ginny. He stopped trying to straighten his hair and looked up. "Uh-oh," he whispered to his dad. "Dedalus Diggle at four o' clock."

"If he sees us, we'll never get away. Let's get out of here while we still can," James said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder to steer him through the crowd. They took refuge in Flourish and Blotts until Diggle passed, then headed out to the quidditch shop to spend, as James put it, "obscene amounts of money". Harry couldn't help smiling as his dad piled him up with quidditch supplies. By the time they left with full bags, his bad mood was but a distant memory.


	14. Weighing of the Wands

At two minutes until seven o'clock, Harry and Ron stood outside Sirius' office, each waiting for the other to knock. At one minute until seven o'clock, Harry took a deep breath and raised his fist to the door. The echo sounded ominous in the empty corridor. Sirius opened the door so quickly that Harry wondered if he'd been waiting just on the other side of it. Harry and Ron entered; Ron looked up at Sirius expectantly, as though waiting for the punchline. Harry stared at the ground, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Come with me," Sirius ordered, and led them to the top of the Astronomy tower. When they arrived, he handed Ron some polish and a cloth and curtly told him to get to work on the telescopes. "I want to be able to look in them and tell if I've anything in my teeth. You will stay until at least ten of them are polished."

"What am I going to do?" Harry asked. He hadn't been given a cloth.

"You are going to come with me," Sirius pronounced and marched down the stairs. Harry followed glumly; this did not bode well. In Sirius' office, Harry stood by the door hanging his head, waiting to hear what Sirius was going to make him do. He watched apprehensively as Sirius went to a closet and pulled something out of it. It wasn't until he closed the door and turned back toward Harry that Harry saw it was his chess set.

"I hear you've been destroying your father at this game lately," Sirius said with a small smile.

Harry's mouth hung open. "But you shouted at me!" he gasped.

Sirius scratched his hair, looking sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "I was afraid Severus was going to come through the door at any moment, and I reckoned I better be shouting at you when he did. Have to keep up appearances, you know. By the way, if anyone asks, I made you write an essay on the moons of Pluto. Unfortunately, I'm going to lose it soon after you turn it in. And it's a pity, too, because it's going to be one of the best essays on the subject I've ever received."

Harry stifled a laugh. "And here I thought you were cross," he said.

"At you? Of course not! Although, I do feel honor bound to point out that you really shouldn't have started a food fight, and I meant what I said about making Hogwarts look bad in front of our international guests. You probably owe Professor Dumbledore an apology. It's your move."

"He didn't seem very upset," Harry commented. "He was smiling and catching things."

Sirius spoke slowly, as though choosing his words very carefully. "Dumbledore is... enigmatic."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, taking Sirius' knight with his castle.

"Mysterious. He plays his cards close to his chest. Have you ever heard that phrase before?" Sirius replied, taking Harry's castle with his queen.

Harry inclined his head.

"Do you know what it means?"

A shake of the head this time. Harry studied the board as he listened to Sirius' explanation.

"It means that just because a person doesn't let on about much doesn't mean they don't know much. That phrase was virtually created for Dumbledore. He very rarely lets people know what he's really thinking."

Harry nodded his understanding, taking Sirius' queen with his Bishop. "Check, and I'll apologize to him next time I see him," Harry reported.

Sirius smiled approvingly. "Good move, on both counts."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What about him?" Sirius asked, moving his king to safety.

"I get to play chess, and he has to polish telescopes."

"He deserves it, treating you like that. I don't blame you for throwing potatoes at him. If it had been me, I'd have thrown an entire cantaloupe at his head."

Harry laughed, then sobered suddenly. "Shouldn't you be working on your book?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't think one night off will hurt me. I've nearly decided authorship doesn't agree with me. I actually had a conversation with the President of the Astronomical Society just yesterday about it. You should hear him; he never shuts up. I've revolutionized the entire Astronomical world, apparently. You'd think I'd found a cure for Nundu breath the way he keeps going on."

Harry stifled a snort as he moved his knight. "Check."

"So, what are you thinking about this tournament?" Sirius asked casually after he had rescued his king once more.

"I'm not thinking much of anything. I have to forfeit, don't I?" Harry asked forlornly.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, but I've been thinking it might not be a bad idea for you to be prepared with a few spells, just in case your dad changes his mind."

Harry studied Sirius a moment. "He didn't sound like he was going to change his mind."

Sirius nodded again. "You know how he is, Harry. He always reacts to things very badly, but once he's had a little bit of time to think about it, he could very well come around. And even if he doesn't, a little extra practice never hurt anything. Tell you what, you come up here once a week, and I'll work with you, just in case. It'll be good for us both, actually. It'll give you a chance to practice, and it'll give me an excuse to get my nose out of books for a little while and spend some time with my favorite godson. What do you think about that?"

Harry didn't have think about it. He agreed quickly, glad to know that Sirius wasn't going to continue ignoring him.

"Good," Sirius said. "And maybe we'll work on your chess a little bit while we're at it." In one move, Sirius took Harry's queen and checkmated his king. "Your dad must be worse than I thought," he said, shaking his head.

Harry laughed. He spent most of the rest of the evening trying to stop until Ron appeared looking tired and cold. He had telescope polish on his cheek. Sirius went to check the telescopes and declared them shiny enough before sternly dismissing Harry and Ron with strict orders to return to their common room.

"What did you have to do?" Ron asked glumly.

"I wrote an essay on the moons of Pluto," Harry answered, hoping he sounded just as glum.

"Bad luck," Ron sympathized. "That's much worse than polishing telescopes. I wonder why he split us up."

"Probably because he remembers faffing about in detention with my dad," Harry suggested.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Sometimes it stinks having a professor who knows all the tricks."

"Knows them?" Harry commented. "I think he invented half of them."

Snape was not nearly so forgiving as Sirius. Their next class with him was pure misery. He berated all the Gryffindors much more than usual and ignored Malfoy when he openly insulted Harry. All the Slytherins had come to class with pins on their robes that declared, "Support Cedric Diggory: the REAL Hogwarts Champion". When pressed, a new message appeared in large red letters, "Potter Stinks".

"They're not very clever," Hermione said softly, but not so softly that Malfoy could not hear.

"Shut up, you filthy mudblood," he hissed. Harry and Ron stood in unison and pointed their wands at Malfoy. He dodged their spells, which hit Crabbe and Goyle instead; Malfoy's countered with a spell of his own, which flew straight through Harry and Ron and hit Hermione full in the face. Harry looked at Goyle, whose eyebrows were beginning to grow so quickly they covered his face, and at Crabbe, whose ears were already so large they were beginning to resemble an elephant's. Finally, he looked at Hermione, whose front teeth had begun to grow and had already reached her chin. She was trying to hide them behind her hand

"Shooting off spells in class," Snape said nastily. "Tut, tut. Detention, I think, and twenty points apiece from Gryffindor. Crabbe, Goyle, go to the hospital wing."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry cried. "He hexed Hermione." He turned toward Hermione to demonstrate. She had given up trying to hide her teeth; they had reached nearly to her chest.

"I see no difference," Snape said coldly. Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes, and she ran out of the room. Ron ran after her. Harry glared at Snape, biting back everything he wanted to say to the man.

"I see you're learning to control your temper," Snape snarled. "I never would have thought it possible for a Potter. Now sit down, and wipe that look off your face."

Harry obeyed, seething, and wondering if he could persuade Fred and George to decorate the Potions classroom with toilet paper instead of the Great Hall just as Colin Creevey came in and squeaked nervously. "I'm to bring Harry Potter to the a meeting with Professor Dumbledore."

"Potter can wait until class is over," Snape spat.

"Please, sir, I'm to bring him now," Colin stuttered. "Professor Dumbledore says-"

"Spare me your quivering," Snape spat. "Potter, collect your things and get out of my sight."

Harry had never been more happy to be summoned to meet with Dumbledore. He followed Colin to the Great Hall where he found Dumbledore, Bagman, Crouch, Ollivander, the other headmasters, the other three champions, and a woman with tightly curled blonde hair whom he immediately recognized as Rita Skeeter. Skeeter made a beeline for him.

"Harry Potter," she said approvingly.

"Miss Skeeter," Harry replied.

"I'm covering the tournament for the Daily Prophet," she explained. "Would you care to say a few words? What's it like to be the youngest champion? Do you think your mother would be proud of you? How did your father take the news?"

"No comment," Harry replied breezily. "And speaking of my father, have you finished slandering him for saving your life?"

Skeeter's smile never faltered. "I only print the news," she said cheerfully. Then she grabbed his arm in her pincer-like grip and pulled him into a nearby broom closet.

"I really don't want to talk to you," Harry insisted.

"Oh, don't worry so much," she replied dismissively. "I promise to make you look good."

Harry sighed. He didn't believe that for a moment. He turned to leave, but she reached out quick as a flash and snagged the back of his robes. "Uh-uh-uh," she said, waving a finger in his face as though he were four years old. "You're not leaving until I get my interview, so you may as well just sit down and enjoy yourself." She reached into her bag and pulled out an acid green quill. She stuck the end in her mouth and said, "Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet."

"Reporter in the loosest sense of the word," Harry muttered so softly that she couldn't hear as the quill began to write by itself.

"So, Harry, what's it like to be the youngest champion? Are you nervous? Do you think you're up to the challenge?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "Up to the challenge, that is. I'm not nervous." There was nothing to be nervous about, as he would be forfeiting. The quill began to write. Harry looked down at it.

"Potter is the picture of self confidence as he declares that he is not the slightest bit afraid. 'After all I've done, I know I can win this tournament,' Potter says."

"I never said that!" Harry protested.

"Don't worry about the quill. It only helps me gather my thoughts." She leaned in conspiratorially, as though talking to an old friend. "So, how did you get your name in the Goblet?"

"I didn't."

"Oh, come on, Harry, my readers love a rebel. No one's going to be angry with you. What was your secret?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

Skeeter seemed unconcerned by his refusal to answer; she simply moved to new questions so quickly it was almost startling. "What about your parents? How is your father reacting to this? Is he proud of you? Is he going to come watch the tasks?"

"Probably," Harry replied. He and James hadn't discussed that, but he was sure his father would be there to watch, if for no other reason, then to be sure that Harry really did forfeit, and probably to take him out to cheer him up afterward.

"'My father is so proud he's about to bust,' Potter reports."

"That is not what I said. I said he'll probably come watch the tasks!"

"'I know he'll be in the stands cheering me on every step of the way.'" Harry watched as the quill wrote out lies and decided he'd had enough.

"I'm leaving," he announced, standing. Skeeter was quicker.

"Just one more quick question. What do you think your mother would say if she were alive."

"I've no idea," Harry snapped. "I was one when she died. I never even knew her."

The scratching of the quill made him look down. "Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the mother he can't remember."

"I have not got tears in my eyes!" Harry bellowed. He tore out of the closet so quickly Skeeter couldn't stop him, and ran head-long into Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry, there you are," he said serenely, as though he had not just been nearly bowled over. "Hiding in a broom closet, I see. Very wise. Rita Skeeter's around here somewhere. Ah, Miss Skeeter. How lovely to see you."

"Professor," she said, smiling.

Harry could never understand how Dumbledore managed to stand there and twinkle when Harry felt he would much prefer punching holes in the wall. "Not bothering our young champion too much, I hope," Dumbledore twinkled.

"Only giving him a chance to speak. The public has a right to know!" she replied with a scathing smile.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore agreed gravely. "The public has a right to know the truth." Harry could never be sure if it had actually happened, but he always imagined he had heard the headmaster emphasize the final two words. He continued without pause. "Well, the weighing of the wands is about to begin. Come along, Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said softly as they walked, glancing behind him to be sure Skeeter wasn't listening. "I'm sorry about the food fight. I didn't mean to start it. It just sort of happened."

Dumbledore smiled. "Did you know your father started a food fight once?"

Harry nodded. "He told me he threw a pie in Snape's face."

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore corrected.

"Professor Snape," Harry parroted.

"And yes, he did. And then he said the exact same thing you just said when we asked him why he had done it. He didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. McGonagall was not impressed by that response, but I understood completely. I had a few things just sort of happen to me when I was young. On occasion things just sort of happen to me now. But perhaps you should be careful to keep something like that from just sort of happening again." Dumbledore winked at Harry as they entered the Great Hall. "Our prodigal champion returns," he announced. "The ceremony can begin."

Ollivander stepped forward calmly. He took each champion's wand in turn and weighed them, reciting their wood and cores before and made each one do a small bit of magic before returning them to their owners. For a brief moment, Harry was afraid Ollivander was going to mention that his wand shared a core with Lord Voldemort's. He breathed a little easier when Ollivander handed the wand back to him without mention of the coincidence; as far as Harry was concerned, his was a good wand that was not at fault for the unfortunate actions of its brother.

The second the ceremony was finished, Skeeter ran forward to take pictures of the group. She foiled all Harry's attempts to hide in the back and instead made him stand in the front, claiming it was because he was the shortest.

As soon as he was released, Harry ran up to the Gryffindor common room to find Ron and tell him that Fleur Delacour had announced she was part Veela. Then he found his two-way mirror to call James and warn him that Rita Skeeter's next article in the Daily Prophet was likely to make his blood boil, and that it hadn't been Harry's fault.

James gave a small smile. "I wouldn't have believed it was your fault," he said with a sigh. "She is something else, that woman."

"She has this strange quill thing that writes while she's talking."

James smiled sardonically. "I know it well. It's a quick-quotes quill. I've got one myself for filling out reports, but mine doesn't lie."

Harry was sure that was true.

"I'll keep my eye out for this article," James said. "From what you've told me, it'll be flattering, at least."

"Unless she puts in the thing about me crying," Harry groused.

"Oh, you should probably go ahead and start bracing yourself for that, Mr. Champion. If she puts that in, she'll have every housewife in the country clucking and fretting over you, and she full well knows it. I bet you people you've never even heard of start sending you baked goods."

Harry groaned. "I'd settle for just not being made fun of. I don't even want to think about how much fun Malfoy's going to have with this."

James was sympathetic. "You don't have to let him get to you, you know. You have plenty of people standing behind you; why do you worry about the few people who aren't?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure how to answer that question.

"I understand. My dad used to tell me the same thing about Snape, but it's not that simple, is it?"

"No, I suppose not," Harry agreed.

Ron appeared just then to fetch Harry for dinner, so he said his goodbyes and accompanied his friends down the stairs. It occurred to him very suddenly that his father was right; there was no need to care what Malfoy and the Slytherins said. It was probably only going to be worse once he forfeited anyway. His friends were going to stand by him no matter what, and that was the only thing that really mattered.

After dinner, Ginny declared that Harry needed an evening off from schoolwork and took him for a walk around the grounds. The moon was out: full and large. Harry couldn't help but think of Remus and wonder how he was faring that night. He sighed as he sat by the lake with Ginny, holding her hand and staring at the Durmstrang ship floating in the midst of the moon's reflection on the glassy water. Ginny laid her head on his shoulder, and he put an arm around her. And when she looked up at him adoringly, he couldn't help but pull her close. As they shared their first kiss under the light of the full moon, Harry decided he didn't care what tomorrow might bring: he'd never had a better day.


	15. The Hungarian Horntail

Beta: ObsidianEmbrace

* * *

"You can't protect him from everything," Sirius said with a sympathetic glance at his friend.

"I can bloody well try," James retorted.

"Whoever's trying to hurt him is going to find another way. At least this way, we know what to expect, and we can be ready for all possibilities."

James shook his head belligerently. "Are you aware that the first task is facing a dragon?"

Sirius took in the information without reaction. "Then he should be well-prepared, as he's already had dealings with one once before," he said after a pause.

"That was a baby dragon, unless there's been another incident I don't know about. There hasn't, has there?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Although Hagrid's got some strange creatures that I'm beginning to suspect might be part dragon, and Harry's been caring for them all term."

James closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have told you that."

James shook his head. "What's he showing them this time?"

"I'm not entirely sure. He's calling them blast-ended skrewts. I've got my suspicions about illegal breeding, and I've been trying to talk him into getting rid of them, but you know how he is when it comes to his "babies". Won't hear a word against them. He's convinced they wouldn't hurt a flea."

"If he's breeding things illegally, I don't want to know about it. As long as I have plausible deniability, I don't have to do anything. So, we were discussing dragons?"

"Dragons," Sirius agreed.

"This won't be a baby dragon he'd be facing. This is a full grown nesting mother. I swear, I don't know what Dumbledore's thinking about sometimes."

"He's going out of his way to keep them safe," Sirius persisted. "The entire staff will be on hand. Think about it, James. Dumbledore's not going to take any chances where any of his students are involved. You know how protective he is of his school, and all the people in it. He won't even hear a word against Snape, for goodness' sake."

James nodded. That was true enough, but it didn't mean he was ready to allow Harry to compete. Still, Sirius had a point. If someone had entered Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire with the goal of hurting him, the boy's forfeiture wouldn't be enough to stop them; they would just make a new plan, and one that no one would see coming. Then there was always the fact that if he competed in the tournament now, James, Moody, the Marauders, and the entire staff of Hogwarts, not to mention Dumbledore, would be on hand in case anything went wrong. Yet, James was highly uncomfortable with the idea. It seemed to him like looking for trouble. He couldn't shake the feeling that he would be playing right into Voldemort's hands if he allowed it.

"I'll think about it," he said after a long silence.

"I know you're worried about him, James. I'm worried about him, too. Only I think it's better to hedge our bets with this tournament when there are at least some safeguards in place than it is to just sit around twiddling our thumbs and waiting for whoever it is to attack unexpectedly."

"This wasn't unexpected?" James asked.

"It was at first, but it's not now. We know what the tasks are going to be, and we know how to keep him safe. We've got the advantage, really. I've already been helping him practice a few spells. He's got summoning down to a fine art, and I've taught him a blasting spell, as well as the shield charm. He's going to be well prepared for whatever this tournament throws at him. We'll be sure of that."

James shook his head as though trying to clear it. "I should have insisted he come home."

Sirius watched him impassively for a long while before sighing. "You can't protect him from everything," he repeated.

"You've already said that."

"Well, it's still true."

"I don't know. I just don't know. I really will think about it."

"Well, don't think too long. You've only got two days before the first task."

James fixed Sirius with his steely gaze. "You talk like you want him to compete," he accused.

"No, I don't. I'd give anything in the world to keep him out of this tournament. Only I think it's our best shot at ferreting out whatever plot there is going on around him. And I'd rather know what we're up against. I never did master the art of being patient."

James gave a bleak smile. He knew that well enough. James couldn't count the number of hours he'd spent in detention because Sirius got bored and decided to carry out some hare-brained scheme, pulling James right along with him. Naturally, James had returned the favor at least as many times, but that was neither here nor there.

"I'll make a decision before the first task," he promised. Sirius nodded, said his goodbyes, and disappeared. James put his two-way mirror in his pocket, wishing he could shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach. He began to wonder how Scrimgeour would feel about transferring him to Austria. Of course, neither he nor Harry spoke German, and he was sure he would miss Sirius and Remus, but there was something about the idea that appealed to him. He sighed; he had never been the type to run away from his problems, even if part of him did think it was the best option at the moment. Not that it would keep Harry safe. If Voldemort could get to him at Hogwarts, he could get to him in Austria, or anywhere else they might try to hide. No, hiding wasn't the answer to this dilemma. He only wished he knew what the answer _was_.

James suddenly felt panicked, like a trapped animal. He stood and paced around his parlor. Sirius was right; he would never be able to protect Harry forever, but he wasn't prepared to hand the boy over, either. He had the inescapable feeling that any decision he made would be wrong, and it would be Harry who would pay the price. The thought of anything happening to his son sent shivers down his spine.

* * *

Harry was still reeling from the story that had come out in the Daily Prophet two days before. It was amazing how Skeeter had managed to transform angry glares and sullen silences into long, humiliating diatribes about everything from his mother to his classes to his closest friends. She had spilt gallons of ink on his love life, attributing to him the claim that he was so madly in love with Ginny his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw her; people who had known for weeks that he was dating Ginny and never given it a second thought were now making kissy faces at him in the corridors and asking him if he needed to fan himself whenever Ginny walked into the room. Things weren't much better for Ginny, although she had shown herself willing to answer insults with hexes early on, and so Harry had born the brunt of the teasing alone.

"You should get her to teach you the bat bogey hex," Ron suggested sympathetically. "That'll shut everyone up."

Hermione clucked disapprovingly. "Stinging hexes would be better," she muttered so softly that Harry was sure he couldn't have heard her right.

The worst part of the entire article had been a purported quote by Harry claiming to still cry at night over his mother. Malfoy in particular seemed beside himself with glee when he read it. If he had offered Harry a handkerchief once, he'd offered it a thousand times. Even Snape sneeringly asked Harry if he was going to cry in the middle of Potions when he accidentally spilled his cauldron, sending a half-brewed anti-inflammatory solution oozing across the floor. He was tempted to ask Snape if he wanted another bowl of pistachio pudding on his head, but decided against it.

The Hufflepuffs, meanwhile, had stopped speaking to him completely, angry that Cedric was not mentioned in the article at all. Cedric alone seemed to be taking the whole business in stride. The only good part of Harry's life at the moment seemed to be his friends' constant encouragement and his weekly meetings with Sirius. He had spent the entire day last Saturday laughing with his godfather, and he was learning a few very exciting spells. Granted, Sirius had told him he wasn't allowed to use most of them outside of an emergency, but that didn't change how exciting it was to learn them. He was beginning to envision himself actually competing in the tournament but, more than that, he was beginning to fantasize about winning.

Two days before the first task, Harry just escaped from Malfoy to hear someone calling his name. He rounded on the person, ready for another attack, and ran into Hagrid's stomach. He was wearing his horrid brown suit and smelled as though he were wearing at least ten bottles of cologne.

"Harry, been lookin' for yeh," Hagrid said. "I was hopin yeh'd join me for some tea."

"Sure," Harry agreed, glad to have any excuse to get out of the castle.

"Yeh should bring yer cloak," Hagrid whispered.

"I, erm, don't have it," Harry admitted. "My dad took it away last year after that day I sneaked to Hogsmeade, and he hasn't given it back yet."

Hagrid stopped in his tracks. "Oh."

"Why do I need my cloak for tea?" Harry asked.

"Er, no reason," Hagrid covered. Harry narrowed his eyes at him, sure that something was going on, but not sure what it might be. "Do yeh have anything black?"

Harry nodded his head just as Sirius came around the corner, whistling.

"Hello Harry, Hagrid. What are the two of you up to this fine evening?"

"We were just goin' to have tea," Hagrid replied. He seemed awfully nervous over tea.

"Little late for tea, isn't it?" Sirius asked, raising one eyebrow at Hagrid.

Hagrid wilted. "If yeh must know, I had something I wanted to show Harry."

"Did you?" Sirius asked. Harry began to suspect that Sirius knew exactly what Hagrid was planning to show Harry. "Wouldn't have been something having to the first task, would it?"

Hagrid's black eyes widened. "How did yeh know? I shouldn't a said that. I mean, no. I just wanted the show him the skrewts. They're really flourishin'."

Sirius regarded Hagrid a moment. "Cheating is very serious, you know," he said gravely. Then his face broke into a smile, though the usual twinkle of amusement was gone from his eyes. "Takes proper planning. For instance, how do you intend to keep him from being seen?"

"I was plannin' teh have him wear his cloak," Hagrid whispered, now so caught up in the excitement of the plot that he had completely forgotten to feign ignorance of it. Harry was beginning to feel a twinge of annoyance at the two of them making plans about him as though he weren't standing right there.

"No, James took his cloak." Sirius looked at Harry.

"Remembered I'm here, have you?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"Mind your cheek. We're on your side," Sirius said warningly as he put his wand to the top of Harry's head. It felt rather as though someone had just broken an egg on top of his head. Cold dripped down his spine, engulfing him. He shivered, looking down to see what was on him and saw that he had disappeared.

"Brilliant," Hagrid breathed. "It's just as good as the cloak."

"Of course it is," Sirius agreed. "I didn't go to Hogwarts for nothing, you know. Now, where are we taking him?"

"I'll take him alone," Hagrid mumbled. He began to blush furiously.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'm going wherever he goes. Only I'm a little worried about his safety at the moment. I promise, no one will no I'm there." He tapped the wand to his own head, and an instant later he disappeared as well. "Disillusionment charm," he whispered to Harry, reaching out to put an invisible hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's how invisibility cloaks work. You just stay close to me and follow Hagrid."

"Do you know what he's going to show us?" Harry asked.

"I might," Sirius whispered back. "I know a lot of things."

"Then why don't you just tell me?" Harry asked.

"Where would the fun in that be?"

They followed Hagrid out to the grounds; Harry began to realize how spoiled he had been by the Marauders and their ability to be casual no matter what was happening around him. Even Remus, by far the least cool-headed of the bunch, would have cringed at how often Hagrid was looking nervously behind him.

"Face forward. You're going to give us away!" Hagrid hissed after the seventh time Hagrid glanced back at them. "Pretend we're not here." Hagrid nodded and stared rigidly straight ahead.

"Well, I suppose that's a little better," Sirius whispered to Harry.

Harry gasped when he realized that, instead of going to Hagrid's hut, they were heading to the humongous powder-blue carriage by which the Beauxbatons students had arrived. He couldn't help smiling to himself when Hagrid's eyes lit up as Madame Maxime stepped out of the carriage, dressed in an olive green dress that made her look uncannily like a tree.

"You look lovely, Madame," Hagrid said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Enchanté."

Beside Harry, Sirius snorted. "It's not funny," Harry scolded. "I think it's sort of sweet."

"I'm not laughing at them. I'm laughing at his French. His pronunciation is worse than your father's, and that's saying something."

Hagrid and Madame Maxime were walking again soon after their greeting. Harry wished Sirius would stop steering him as though he were five; he could walk on his own, disillusionment charm or not. He tried to work out where they were going as they strolled toward a little-used corner of the grounds and then into the Forbidden Forest beyond.

Harry heard the shouting long before he saw its source. They emerged from a small glade of trees and saw a large enclosure with four dragons inside of it. They looked angry, although it occurred to Harry that he was unused to dragons, so this might very well be typical dragon behavior. He subconsciously moved closed to Sirius, who tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder while continuing to lead him forward.

"Charlie," Hagrid called.

Charlie Weasley turning his head, waving amicably at Hagrid. "Hello, Hagrid," he called, jogging over to meet him. He stopped short when he saw Madame Maxime. "I didn't know you were bringing a guest."

"Olympe won't tell anyone, will you, Olympe?"

"Of course not," she said, holding her head high as though offended by the suggestion.

"Sure she won't," Sirius whispered sardonically. "I'd bet all the gold in Gringott's her champion knows all about the dragons the second she steps foot back in that Cinderella carriage of hers."

It was only the shock of the realization that kept Harry from crying out. "We have to face dragons?" he whispered to Sirius.

"Well, they do. You don't. You're still forfeiting, right?"

Harry nodded forlornly, momentarily forgetting that Sirius couldn't see him. He didn't seem to mind.

"Of course, if you didn't, there's a very simple spell that can defeat a dragon."

Harry gasped. Was Sirius actually suggesting he disobey his father?

"And I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you that you can compete."

"I can compete?" Harry repeated, a little too loudly.

"Shh!" Sirius warned. "Listen."

"They'll just have to get past them," Charlie was telling Hagrid. "I don't know much more than that. Except that Dumbledore specifically asked for nesting mothers."

"Beautiful, aren' they?" Hagrid asked Maxime. She nodded, looking as though she thought they were the most hideous things she'd ever seen in her life. Harry was inclined to agree with her.

"They do have a certain charm," Sirius whispered. "I had a stuffed one when I was smaller. I called it 'Iago'."

Harry wasn't sure what they had to do with anything. He had once had a stuffed lion that he called "Cowboy". That didn't mean he wanted to come face to face with a real lion.

"I feel for the poor champion who has to face the Hungarian Horntail," Charlie continued, oblivious to the simultaneous panic and excitement that were competing for space in Harry's belly. "It's back is as dangerous as its front." He motioned to a gray dragon that was currently on a rampage. It swung its tail in the air, revealing sharp spikes on the end of it.

"I should go," Charlie said, eying the Horntail warily. "And tell Harry I said good luck."

"I think we can probably be going," Sirius whispered. He steered Harry back toward the castle. As they stepped out of the forest, they nearly ran headlong into Karkaroff sneaking toward the forest.

"Looks like you and Fleur won't be the only ones to know what's coming," Sirius said softly.

"Aren't you going to say something to Karkaroff?" Harry asked.

"No, because I'm not supposed to be out here any more than he is. Besides, cheating in the tournament is nearly as much a time-honored tradition as the tournament itself. But even so I highly doubt Dumbledore would be glad to know that two members of his staff helped one of his champions do so, especially when Maxime and Karkaroff are already screaming foul play. Idiots."

Sirius didn't remove the disillusionment charm until they were in his quarters. Harry was glad to have it off of him; he felt warmth seep back into his fingers and toes as it receded.

"So, about this dragon. Their eyes are their weakest spot. You can use a simple conjunctivitis spell on it to distract it while you get past."

Sirius taught Harry the incantation and kept him until he had mastered the spell. It was well after curfew before he left Sirius' quarters, wishing he had another disillusionment charm or, better yet, his cloak, to keep him from being seen as he traveled back to his dormitory where Ron and Hermione were waiting impatiently to find out where he had been. Ron was beside himself with excitement when Harry told him he was being allowed to compete. Even Hermione's stern disapproval couldn't dampen their spirits as they talked about how brilliant it would be if Harry actually won. Harry was glad he and Ron were friends; he couldn't imagine how awful he would have felt about everything happening if Ron were still refusing to speak to him.

The next day, Harry exited his Defense class to find Cedric walking by with a gaggle of Hufflepuffs. It dawned on Harry very suddenly that Cedric was the only champion who didn't know about the dragons. He excused himself from Ron and Hermione and called after Cedric. Cedric had more trouble extricating himself from his friends than Harry had had, particularly when they saw that it was Harry who was calling him.

"I'll be fine. Go," Cedric told them. They hesitated only a moment before leaving.

"Hey," Harry said awkwardly.

"Hey," Cedric replied.

"Listen, I want you to know, I didn't have anything to do with that article. Skeeter-"

"I know what she's like. Don't worry. I'm not holding a grudge or anything."

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully. "I wanted you to know that I saw what's coming for the first task. It's dragons. We've got to get past them. I don't know why."

Cedric regarded Harry skeptically. "How do you know that?"

"I, erm, I just happened to see them. And Fleur and Viktor know, too. So now we're all even."

"Yeah, okay," Cedric agreed. "Well, thanks."

Harry gave a single nod, and Cedric hurried off. "That was a very decent thing you just did," someone growled from behind him. He spun and found Moody watching him from a doorway.

"I wasn't," Harry said frantically. "I didn't. I mean, I wasn't trying to..."

"Don't worry, Potter. I'd be a fool if I thought no one would cheat. Come inside."

Harry went apprehensively. He hadn't mean to cheat. Sirius and Hagrid had more or less made that decision for him. "Do you know what you're going to do?" Moody asked, taking a swig from his hip flask.

"I didn't cheat on purpose," Harry explained.

Moody frowned. "I'm not judging you."

"But I didn't. Someone took me to the dragons. I didn't even know where we were going until we were already there."

Moody nodded, fixing him with both eyes. Harry wondered if he could see through his ribs and straight to his pulsating heart.

"I believe you. So, what are you planning to do? You do have a plan, don't you, Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Conjuctivitis curse."

Moody shook his head. "Too risky. What you ought to do is play to your strengths."

"Play to my strengths? What are my strengths?"

"Don't you know?"

"I'm good at Defense," Harry offered. "And quidditch."

"Ah, quidditch," Moody said with a small smile. "How could you play to that strength?"

"You want me to fly?" Harry asked. "But how am I going to get my broomstick out there?"

"Hmm," Moody asked, scratching at his chin with overdone thoughtfulness. "If only there were a spell that could call your broomstick to you."

"A summoning spell!" Harry realized excitedly. "Yes, I could use a summoning spell and call my broomstick. Then I could fly past the dragon."

"Smart chap," Moody said approvingly. "Just like your father."

Harry grinned at the praise and ran off to tell Sirius what he had decided to do. Sirius was taken with the idea and seemed truly jealous that he hadn't thought of it first.

"I must be losing my touch," he said with a small shake of his head.


	16. Vying for Victory

Harry was up with the sun the day of the first task. He barely slept the night before, and what little sleep he caught was punctuated by nightmares of dragons chasing him through dark forests. The excitement he had felt at learning he would be allowed to compete had faded completely into a case pre-performance nerves that made his jitters before a quidditch match seem almost pleasant in comparison. He climbed down to the common room and found a chair facing the window. He curled up into a small ball inside it and watched as the horizon changed from velvety black to deep indigo to breathtaking violet to rosy pink pink to calming green to brilliant gold, and finally to crisp cerulean as the sun rose slowly over the mountains.

Harry had always loved the hopeful loneliness of early mornings. When he was younger, and he and James had insomnia together, sometimes they would sit on the veranda on cool summer mornings watching the sun appear across the hills. Harry still sometimes wished for the days that he could crawl in his father's lap and let all his worries sink away. In those early mornings, with all the possibilities of the day still ahead of him, he couldn't help feeling breathless at the beauty of it all. Those were the times he most missed feeling of safety and wonder he had felt those mornings so long ago, cradled in his dad's arms.

Harry sighed when he heard the first noises of the day, sad to be losing his solitary reverie. He dragged himself out of the chair and ripped his eyes away from the brightening sky, pulling himself up to his dormitory to dress. He was careful to leave his broomstick out and his window open before he left.

At breakfast, he ate very little, and that only because Hermione nagged him into it.

"You have to eat something," she said with disapproval in her voice.

He shook his head. "If I'm going to lose my breakfast, at least this way I won't have much of it to lose," he said glumly.

"There's the spirit!" Fred said cheerfully.

"That's what we like about you," George added. "You always look on the bright side of things."

Harry glared at them.

"Okay, maybe not," Fred relented, ducking his head out of the line of Harry's gaze.

"If looks could kill," George mumbled as the two of them wandered away to seek out more cheerful company.

When McGonagall came to tap him gravely on the shoulder, Harry swallowed down the bit of bile that rose in his throat. He looked up at the staff table to find Sirius watching him intently, his face unreadable. The moment he saw Harry looking, he gave a weak smile and a small wave. Harry waved back, sure that his attempt at a grin was coming across much closer to a grimace.

He wished he could speak to his dad before the match. He wasn't sure why he hadn't thought to tell him about the broomstick idea, but he had been so tired after such a long and emotional day that he fell straight into bed. Then he hadn't wanted to disturb James when he woke in the night. Sirius had told him James was working himself to death making sure the tasks were safe and was likely to be knackered. Now Harry wished he'd been selfish and bothered him anyway; he wouldn't have minded, Harry knew, but he also thought himself far too old to be bothering his dad in the middle of the night just because he was feeling a little scared. He consoled himself with the thought that it would be over soon, for good or for ill, and he'd have the entire afternoon to be either congratulated or consoled by the Marauders and his friends.

"Hey, Harry," someone called, jerking him out of his thoughts. He hadn't realized that he was already halfway across the grounds, heading along the path his feet had followed with Sirius and Hagrid only two nights before. It hadn't seemed such a long walk while Sirius was cracking jokes. Now, it seemed like miles. He turned to see who was calling him and saw Cedric running toward him. He was out of breath when he caught up. "I just wanted to say thank you for telling me about the dragons," he gasped out, his chest heaving.

Harry nodded. "It was nothing." Cedric said no more. He looked as nervous as Harry felt. Still, he was glad to have a familiar face beside him as he walked into the dragons' lair. Viktor and Krum were already there, the apprehension on their faces mirroring that of the two Hogwarts champions.

"Good. You're all here," Crouch said importantly. Harry wondered if the man ever thought about anything but business. He held a bag out to the champions. "In here, you will find a miniature version of what you will face out there as well as the order in which you will face them. The only instructions I have for you are to get the golden egg."

Harry looked around at the other champions. He had never noticed before how very _tall _they all were. Cedric and Krum were both nearly a whole head taller than Harry. Even Fleur stood several inches higher than he. Harry sucked in his breath; if his father's stature was any indication, he himself would be quite tall some day, but today he suddenly felt both very tiny and very young. He pulled himself up to his full height, hoping that would make him feel better. It didn't.

Fleur reached into the bag first. Judging by the look of steady resolve on her face when she pulled out a miniature Swedish Shortsnout, Harry and Sirius had reckoned correctly that Maxime had informed her of what to expect.

Krum went next. He too showed no reaction to the small Chinese Fireball he had plucked from the bag. He held it in his hand and seated himself on a bench to brood. He seemed to do that a lot.

Cedric pulled out his dragon, a common Welsh Green, and turned to Harry with an encouraging smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Harry looked around and noticed that only one dragon was left: the Hungarian Horntail.

"_Why is it always me?_" Harry thought as he closed his eyes and reached into the bag and pulled out the Horntail. On closer inspection, he saw that it had a small number four tied around its neck. Well, at least he would have plenty of time to reflect upon his impending doom.

He sat on a bench and put the dragon down beside him. It yawned, emitting a small puff of smoke from its nose, curled up like a cat next to Harry's thigh, and went to sleep. Harry was not encouraged by this behavior, particularly not after he heard a roar from outside the enclosure, followed by squeals from the crowd. He wondered how his miniature dragon would enjoy the name Iago and then told himself it was silly to name the thing. He probably wouldn't be allowed to keep it anyway. Still, there was something sort of cute about the way it was curled up, its breathing deep and even.

Another roar from outside quickly influenced Harry to change his mind.

"Harry, a word," Bagman said, pulling Harry out of his seat and to a small corner of the tent. "Do you know what you're going to do?" he whispered.

"Yes," he said guardedly. Bagman was a judge. What was he playing at?

"Harry, I'd like to help you. You're the underdog here, and I've always had a soft spot for underdogs. Besides, I know you didn't want to compete. Listen, their eyes are their weakest..."

"I know what I'm going to do, Mr. Bagman," Harry cut him off. "But thank you all the same."

Bagman squeezed his shoulder as Crouch called him away. "If you need anything. Any help. Anything at all, I'm glad to do whatever I can." And with that, he was gone. Harry returned to his bench to wait.

The slightly queasy feeling in his stomach grew more and more pronounced as each champion disappeared. None of them returned, so Harry had no way to know how their trial had gone. When he was alone in the tent, he stood and stretched, hoping that this would be like a quidditch match and his fears would ease once he was in the air. He took a deep breath when Charlie Weasley pulled the tent flap aside and asked him if he was ready with an smile. He squeezed Harry's shoulder as he walked past. "We're all behind you," he whispered. "And if anything goes wrong, we'll take care of the dragon."

Harry nodded, hoping he wasn't turning green, and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

In the stands, James had been watching with increasing distress as each champion faced the dragons. By the time Harry stepped out of the tent, he had convinced himself that the dragon would probably charge right at him and burn him to a crisp before he had the chance to do anything. When Harry did step out, James was simultaneously overwhelmed by how big and how small the boy was. Looking at him now, in his champion robes, it was hard to believe that there stood the same little boy who used to give him sticky kisses and draw pictures on the walls.

James smiled a little as he remembered the day when Harry was four that he returned home to find Harry painting an elaborate picture on the parlor walls that only vaguely resembled the castle and dragon he claimed it was. He had been so overjoyed with his creation that James couldn't find it in his heart to reprimand the child, even though he knew he ought to. Later, he discovered that Sirius encouraged him to draw a dragon, indeed had even helped him with it, planning to vanish it before James got home, but he had fallen asleep instead, leaving Harry to decorate nearly the entire wall with a medieval scene, complete with a black-haired prince on something James was sure was supposed to be a horse and a very badly proportioned ginger-haired princess that he claimed was Ginny. James left the picture there for years until Harry grew old enough to be embarrassed by it and asked him to get rid of it one day.

It was hard to believe the boy was nearly a man. Only a few more years and James would be taking him out for his first firewhiskey... if Sirius didn't sneak him off for one first. Still, compared to the others, Harry still looked unbelievably young and frightened. His eyes searched the stands and found James. James gave him an encouraging smile.

Harry felt bolstered by his father's smile. He looked at the dragon. It was ignoring him, nosing its eggs with its snout. Harry saw the golden egg clearly, right in the middle of her clutch. He wished he could just summon the egg to him without having to go to all the trouble of getting past the dragon. He lifted his wand. A hush went through the crowd. "Accio Firebolt!" he bellowed. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

Yards above him, James leaned forward. "What is he waiting for?" he asked Remus. Beside James, Remus shrugged.

"Look!" someone in the crowd called, pointing into the distance. Something was heading toward the enclosure at top speed. As it got closer, James saw that it was Harry's broomstick. "What is he doing?" James asked.

"I don't know," Remus replied.

"He's planning to fly," Sirius said.

"Fly?" James asked. His voice went up an entire octave for his next utterance. "He's planning to fly?

Harry caught the broomstick easily, climbed atop it, and kicked off the ground. James ran his fingers nervously through his hair. He could hardly bear to watch. As though a dragon weren't bad enough, Harry was facing a dragon hundreds of yards in the air. Now he could be burned, squashed, eaten, gored, and smashed to bits on the ground all in one go. James had a sudden feeling like he might sick up.

Once he was in the air, Harry's doubts floated away. This was a quidditch game. Just another quidditch game. And if there was one thing Harry knew, it was how to play quidditch. He flew close enough to the dragon to get its attention. It whipped its head up with startling speed. Harry heard the gasp of the crowd as he rose up, out of the dragon's reach. It opened its mouth and shot a jet of flame in Harry's direction. Harry dodged it easily. The crowd cheered.

Harry could see that the dragon was reluctant to leave its nest. Whenever Harry came close enough, it would snap and growl or sometimes let loose small streams of flame, but it would not take off. Harry played at the edges of its range, flying in circles around its head. It's yellow eyes watched his movement as though he were a fly the Horntail particularly wanted to swat. Harry drew in closer and closer, teasing the dragon. Each time it snapped and Harry dodged, the crowd cried out in dismay, but the dragon never got close enough to touch him.

Harry continued the pattern of flying just out of its reach, spinning circles that the dragon followed with its head like a cobra following the movements of a snake charmer.

In the stands, James was taking deep breaths to keep himself calm. Every time Harry dodged the dragon's jaws or shoots of fire, his heart leapt into his throat. This was precisely why he didn't want Harry to compete in the first place. More than once, he threw his head into his hands, not able to watch the proceedings any longer. But each time, a cry from the crowd would sent his face shooting up again, sure that Harry was being killed while he sat here in the stands and his his face like an idiot. But there was little to do but chew his fingernails down to a nub and wait for Harry to finish.

James cried out louder than anyone else when Harry got too close and met the spiked end of the dragon's tail.

"He's all right, James," Remus reported tensely beside him. "It only grazed his arm. He's bleeding a little, it looks like, but he's not hurt."

"If he survives this, I'm going to kill him," James breathed.

Remus nodded his agreement. "I might just help you."

"What can he possibly be thinking abou - Argh!"

Harry had just dodged another snap of the dragon's jaws.

"This is why I wanted him to forfeit. Why can't he ever just - Aah! I can't watch this."

"Come on," Harry silently urged the dragon. It had lifted up a tiny bit from its nest. Harry could tell it was longing to take off, torn between wanting to finally catch the annoying bug buzzing around its head and not wanting to leave its eggs unattended. Every time it strained up a little further, Harry flew a touch higher. The beast wailed in frustration. "Just a little further," Harry cajoled it.

Finally, it happened. With a deafening growl, the dragon took flight, and Harry dived. Within seconds, he was past the dragon, the golden egg safely in his hands, and the dragon handlers were closing in.

"And with our fastest time yet, it's our youngest champion, Harry Potter!" Bagman's amplified voice called out over the stands. Harry couldn't help but smile through his heaving breaths. He could hardly believe he'd been the fastest. It had felt as though he were up there a lifetime. Madame Pomfrey appeared by his side and spirited him back into the tent to tend to his arm.

"It's only a scratch," he told her.

"I'll be deciding if it's only a scratch or not," she ordered, bandaging his arm so tightly his fingers began to tingle.

"That's too tight. I can't feel my hand," Harry told her. She huffed and loosened the bandage.

"Here, drink this," she ordered. "It'll keep it from getting infected. Honestly. Dragons." She seemed to be taking the presence of dragons in her school as a personal affront.

When Pomfrey let him breathe again, Harry found himself being ambushed by Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione screeched.

"You were brilliant," Ron told him. "You were the best one."

"What did everyone else do?" Harry asked, pulling at his bandage.

"Cedric was the best after you," Ron informed him. He transfigured a boulder into a dog and made it run in the opposite direction from him. The dragon went after the dog and Cedric went for the egg. It changed its mind halfway through, though, and decided it wanted Cedric more. He got burned pretty badly, but he's okay. Then Fleur tried to charm it or something, but it didn't work. It lit her robes on fire. Krum was the worst. He didn't even think about using his broomstick. He used the conjunctivitis curse, but the dragon panicked and smashed half its eggs. He lost loads of points for that; he wasn't supposed to hurt any of them."

"Come on, they'll have your scores up soon," Hermione told him.

Hermione and Ron ushered Harry out for his scores. The other champions all stood huddled next to the tent flap, and Harry joined them.

"That was fery good flying," Krum told him.

"Yeah?" Harry asked.

Krum nodded. Harry didn't think anything could have possibly made the day better.

"They're giving your scores now," Cedric told him. First was Bagman. He appeared to think for a moment before he waved his wand. A glowing "ten" shot out the end.

"What's he playing at?" Harry asked. "I got hurt."

"Don't complain," Ron told him. Next up came Dumbledore. After a moment's pause, he gave Harry a nine, as did Crouch. Maxime was next. She gave Harry an eight. Finally Karkaroff, without a moment's hesitation, gave Harry a four. The crowd booed.

"That's cheating!" Ron cried.

"Cheating's part of the tournament, apparently," Harry said.

"Looks like we're tied," Cedric said, holding out a hand to Harry. Harry shook it amicably. Now that the task was behind him, he felt better about everything.

"Champions," Crouch said, coming over to where they all stood. "Your next task will be on February twenty-fourth at nine o'clock in the morning. Inside your egg, you will find a clue as to what the next task will be. I remind you that you are expected to work out the clue alone."

Harry looked down at his egg as Crouch left and saw that it had hinges. The other champions were eying their eggs in a similar manner as the crowd began to file out of the stands.

"Where's my dad?" Harry asked, looking up in the stands to see if he could spot the Marauders. He found James, Sirius, and Remus staring at him and waved. Only Sirius waved back. James and Remus were deep in conversation. Harry ran toward them, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to be share his excitement with his father.

James, however, was not excited. The moment Harry landed and the immediate danger passed, James' fear and panic turned quickly into fury. With every second that went by, his anger grew, so that by the time Harry stepped out of the tent for his scores, James was livid. Even the bandage on his son's arm could not mitigate his anger; indeed, it only reminded him how much danger Harry had put himself into chasing after a dragon. James was so angry tears had begun to sting the backs of his eyes. He could hardly believe that Harry would have deliberately disobeyed him after James had clearly told him to forfeit.


	17. Tattered Trust

Harry felt as though the excitement was going to explode out of him. He had not only finished the task, he'd done it with style; Viktor Krum had told him he'd never seen better flying; and he was tied for the lead, despite being the youngest champion.

"Dad!" Harry called excitedly when he got close to his father's place in the top row of the stands. "Dad, did you see me?"

James stood slowly, crossing his arms angrily over his chest. His breath came in short bursts. "What the hell did you think you were doing out there?"

Harry stopped short, his smile faltering. "What do you mean?"

"You deliberately disobeyed me," James accused through clenched teeth.

Harry's eyes went wide. "No, I didn't," he protested. He looked in his father's eyes, unable to account for the fury he saw there. He couldn't understand what was happening. Cold, clammy tendrils of fear and doubt began to creep into his belly.

"Oh, so I was just imagining it while you were flying around a dragon? I told you to forfeit, Harry. Which part of that was unclear?" James' voice grew louder and louder as he spoke, so that by the end he was bellowing. Harry was sure the entire exiting crowd could hear. He cringed, thinking of how much mileage Malfoy would get out of this. Anger clamped down hard on Harry's heart.

"Why are you shouting at me?" Harry asked loudly. "Sirius said I could-"

"Don't you dare try to blame this one someone else," James shouted, cutting him off.

"Dad, would you just listen for a minute?" Harry shouted back.

"I want you to tell me right now what you were thinking about out there, and you had better reflect long and hard before you even begin to consider trying to lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Sirius said-"

"Dammit, Harry!" James screamed, stomping his foot loudly against the metal bleachers. The sound echoed across the emptying pitch with surprising volume. Several of the dragon handlers turned as one of the dragons roared loudly: startled, no doubt, by the sudden noise.

"James," Sirius inserted softly. "We have an audience."

The reminder annoyed James, adding to his foul temper. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he was humiliating Harry in front of his friends. If he had thought about it more, he probably would have realized he was humiliating himself a bit as well. At the moment, however, he didn't much care about anyone's humiliation. He took a deep breath, shaking with rage. He looked into Harry's eyes. They were wide and hurt, showing a confusing melange of pain, anger, and not a little fear. That annoyed James further. Harry had no right to be hurt or angry now that the deed was done and the lies were told, and he certainly had no right to be afraid to accept the consequences. James closed his eyes a moment and drew a long, shaky breath. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deadly."You are coming home with me tonight, and I don't know what I'm going to do to you, but I know it's going to be miserable. Go get your things and meet me in the Entrance Hall."

"But, Dad, I-"

"NOW!" James roared. He lifted his hand, and for a moment Harry thought his father was going to hit him. He flinched, tensing for the blow, but instead James curled his fingers into a fist, save his index finger, which he stuck in Harry's face as he spoke through gritted teeth. "And you better not even think about disobeying me, or so help me, I'll-" James shook his head slowly, letting the threat hang in the air between them. He glared at Harry, shaking with rage as he unclenched his hand. He twitched it around for a moment as though aching to give Harry a smack. Harry followed his father's palm nervously with his eyes, not daring to move. He was relieved when James balled both hands into fists and stuffed them angrily into his pockets. The momentary relief dissolved at James' next words. "Get out of my sight."

As Harry stared back, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He had been in a fair amount of trouble in his day; he had disobeyed and talked back and sneaked around. He had stolen and even lied more times than he cared to remember, knowing full well how much James despised it, but regardless of what Harry did, his father had never once told him to go away.

The cold, empty sting of the words threatened to overwhelm him. Harry turned and fled. Ron chased after him. Hermione stood there for a moment, looking at James. Then she burst into tears and ran after her friends. James watched them go, his rage clawing at his belly.

He swore loudly, kicking at the bench. He turned to Sirius and Remus. "Why would he do this? Why?"

Remus and Sirius looked at one another. Neither of them could remember the last time they had seen James so furious; they both eyed him tentatively, as though afraid to get too close. James sat down so hard on the bench that it hurt, but he didn't care. There was very little room in his body for any emotion besides ire. He could hardly believe Harry had done this, and he could even less believe his insistence that he hadn't. It wasn't like Harry at all to behave this way. He may not always put much stock in rules, and he certainly behaved recklessly, but he was rarely willfully disobedient, and he always owned up to his mistakes. At least, he always had before.

James did not like this turn of events at all. He knew how to deal with thoughtlessness, and he could understand Harry's occasional cheekiness. He didn't have the foggiest idea what to do about belligerent defiance and bald-faced lies. Sirius and Remus sat on either side of him. He was thankful for their presence. Perhaps one of them could explain to him how his normally courageous and honest child had suddenly morphed into a liar. And maybe one of them would have some ideas for how to handle it, because James' mind was drawing a blank.

"James, I think there's something you should know," Sirius said tentatively.

"If you're going to try to convince me not to punish him, you can save your breath," James snapped.

"What are you planning to do?" Remus asked softly.

"I've no idea. Beat him, maybe? Send him off to live with McGonagall? Lock him in his room until he comes of age? What does a person do about something like this? I haven't a clue. You know, it wouldn't be so bad if he'd just competed after I told him not to. But then lying about it? That part doesn't even make any sense. What could he possibly hope to accomplish lying when I was in the stands watching him the whole time? Did he think I would somehow not see him?"

"I don't know. Teenagers have strange thought processes sometimes," Remus offered. "I had a fair few perplexing conversations with students when I was teaching. Some of the imaginative lies and excuses I heard could make a novelist jealous."

"James, I think-" Sirius began, but James cut him off.

"And I think he was about to try to blame it on you, Padfoot. As if I'd honestly believe you'd tell him to compete after I'd told him no."

James ran his fingers through his hair and turned to Sirius, who wore an unreadable expression on his face. "Actually..."

James jerked his head up to look at his friend, blinking rapidly as the information sank in. "You told him he could compete." It wasn't a question. Sirius could hide a lot of things from a lot of people, but to James he had always been an open book.

"Sirius, no!" Remus exclaimed.

"It's worse than that," Sirius admitted, running a hand through his ebony curls. "I helped him prepare."

James spoke through gritted teeth, his voice low and raspy. "Why would you do that?"

"I thought you'd come around, and I wanted him to be ready. We talked about this a few days ago. I really do think it's better this way, when we know what we're up against and we can be ready for it."

"That wasn't your decision to make!" James growled.

"It was the right decision," Sirius insisted.

"He's not your child, Sirius!" James bellowed.

"He's the next best thing!" Sirius retorted, his voice maddeningly calm. "And I feel just as protective of him as you do. You know that."

James did not reply. He leaned back on his elbows and stared at the sky. At least Harry's behavior made sense now. He closed his eyes, focusing on the red glaze of sunlight burning through his eyelids. He rarely grew angry with Sirius. They understood one another so well that their relationship was typically seamless, as easy as breathing. James could probably count on one hand the number of times he and Sirius had had any sort of quarrel worth mentioning. This one was going to top them all.

James had the sudden inescapable feeling of sitting in the calm before the storm. He took a deep breath, trying to quiet the roar in his head and the words that were aching to come pouring out of his throat. He remembered Harry very suddenly and stood quickly. "I have to speak to Harry. He still thinks he's in trouble."

Sirius and Remus stood with him. Sirius put a hand on his shoulder. "James."

James couldn't have said what possessed him, but he turned without warning and crashed his fist into Sirius' face. He and Sirius had never before come to blows, though they had neared it on occasion. Sirius tripped over the benches and fell backward into the stands. "What the hell?" he questioned.

"Don't talk to me for awhile," James barked. "And stay far, far away from my son!"

Remus helped Sirius to his feet as James jogged away, breaking into a sprint as soon as he was free of the stands. He hoped the movement might clear his head a little and work off some of his anger, but it didn't. When he arrived at the entrance to the castle, he could almost feel the hot fury radiating off of him in waves. All he could think about were all the things he wished he'd said to Sirius. He went inside to find Harry waiting for him, a look of apprehension on his face. Seeing Harry so upset redoubled his anger toward Sirius.

"Dad!" Harry said, pleadingly, the moment he saw James. "Dad, I'm really sorry, I-"

"Save it," James said, his voice coming out harsher than he intended it. Harry's lower lip trembled slightly. "Sirius confessed about telling you that you could compete."

Harry's relief was almost palpable. He still watched James tentatively, not sure what to say. He had rarely seen his father so angry and had learned that it was best to leave him be in such situations.

"You're not in as much trouble as you were, but you're not off the hook, either. He had no right to tell you that, and you had no reason not to believe him, but you should have checked with me. Sirius does not have any say in what you are and are not allowed to do, and you know that full well. If it ever happens again that I tell you one thing and he tells you another, I expect you to at least try to verify it with me. You've got to stop this little habit you've developed of sneaking around and asking him after I've told you no."

"I don't do that," Harry protested.

"Oh, so I made it up when you went running off to him when I told you you couldn't come to Peter's trial?" James asked, working to keep his voice even. Still, it remained rough and harsh around the edges.

"Oh," Harry sighed, dropping his head. He had forgotten about that, but he hadn't meant it like that. He had only hoped Sirius would side with him and convince James to change his mind.

"That's what I thought," James scolded. "You're playing us off one another, and taking advantage of us both, and I do not appreciate it. You had best never do it again."

Harry jerked his head up, looking at James' eyes. "But I didn't do that this time. I swear I didn't. I was planning to forfeit up until two days ago, and he came to me and told me you'd said it was all right. I didn't ask him or anything. He and Hagrid took me to show me the dragons, and Sirius said I could compete. I thought you must have said it was okay. I didn't mean to disobey you. I swear it."

James took a deep breath, his temper bubbling closer and closer to the surface with every new detail that came out. "I can't talk about this right now. I'm so angry I can't even think straight. Come on. We're going."

Harry lifted an overnight bag from the floor, draping it across his shoulder. "Yes, sir," he muttered. Anxiety nudged at his insides. The last time he had seen James this angry was the morning after Harry fought the basilisk. To this day it was one of the worst rows the two of them had ever had.

James turned and charged out of the castle, only moderately aware that, behind him, Harry was having to trot to keep up. He felt a small surge of satisfaction when he saw Sirius out of the corner of his eye, limping toward the castle and nursing a bloody nose. He said nothing, watching James and Harry pass with a pained look on his face.

When they arrived home, Harry stood awkwardly by the floo, waiting. When James stepped through, Harry watched him expectantly. James wasn't sure what to say. During the walk to Hogsmeade, he had had time to clear his mind and realize how unfair he had been to his son, but now he wasn't sure what to say to fix it. He reached a hand out to Harry, but Harry pulled away, staring at James with hurt in his eyes. James suddenly felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Lily had looked at him the same way a few times, and it always made him feel his heart was shattering. He briefly wondered why no one had ever warned him how impossibly heartbreaking this parenting thing was going to be. There were days when it seemed every tiny mistake would haunt him forever. He didn't even want to consider the many colossal mistakes he had made today.

He closed his eyes a moment to escape the silent accusation in Harry's emerald eyes. The thought that Lily wouldn't have mucked things up quite so badly were she here sprang unbidden into his mind. He quickly pushed it aside; he had learned from experience that nothing but guilt and soulsickness lie down that road. His mind came up infuriatingly blank as he tried to think of what to say. Finally, he settled on the easiest thing. "Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry nodded, never taking his eyes off his father. The deep hurt James saw there didn't diminish.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you like that. Only I was scared," James tried to explain. He looked desperately into Harry's face, praying for forgiveness to lighten the load his eyes told he was bearing.

Harry nodded again. James' heart was beating very quickly in his chest. His stomach felt as though it might explode. His throat burned. He tried to speak several times, but no words would come out. He suddenly feared that Harry would never forgive him - that they would spend the rest of their days passing awkward silences at holidays. "I - I," James lost his voice, trying to tell himself that this was silly. Of course Harry would forgive him. He just wanted it to be now. "Are you hungry?" he finally asked. It occurred to him that Harry probably hadn't eaten much breakfast. He never could eat when he was nervous. James was the same way.

Harry shook his head. "Am I going to be punished?" he asked softly. James blinked in surprise a moment. Had he really been so unreasonable that Harry still thought he was in trouble, even after it had come out that he really hadn't done anything wrong? Yes, he decided after a moment's reflection. He had been that unreasonable. He felt his face growing hot with shame as he shook his head.

"May I go upstairs, then?" Harry nearly whispered. James agreed, not sure what else to do, and Harry disappeared, leaving James feeling very alone indeed. He stood in the center of the parlor for a long while after Harry had gone, trying to work out how everything had gone to hell so very quickly and how he was going to go about making it right. He found himself feeling a little jealous of women. All this emotional stuff seemed awfully easy for them.

When he was young, his mother usually played the mediator in those rare times when James and his father quarreled. She had an almost miraculous touch at that sort of thing. He'd be sitting in his room sure that he would never speak to his father again when his mother would appear with tea and biscuits, and by the time the tea was drunk and the biscuits inhaled, all his anger would have evaporated and he'd want nothing more than to find his father and reconcile. Well, James decided, it was a start.

He heaved himself into the kitchen to make tea, adding a bit of peppermint to calm both their nerves. He piled a plate high with chocolate biscuits and made his way to Harry's room. He found the boy in the library instead, sitting against a bookshelf and staring at nothing in particular. "What are you doing?" James asked.

Harry looked up at him. "Nothing," he replied.

"I brought you some tea and biscuits," James explained. He put the tray down next to Harry and sat on the other side of it. Grasping a teacup, he offered it to the boy. "Here. Drink it. I put some peppermint in. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, reaching out to take the cup with shaky hands. He held it in front of him, blowing the steam sideways. He would not meet James' eyes.

"Harry, I really am sorry," James began. "I know you're angry, and you've every right to be. I never should have shouted at you like that."

Harry took a sip of the tea, ignoring his father. "I'm not angry," he finally said. James could sense unspoken words hovering in the air between him. He waited as Harry tried to put name to his thoughts. He looked up at James, the heartrending hurt back in his face.

"I tried to tell you what happened, but you wouldn't listen," he accused.

James nodded. "I know. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Harry's lip trembled as he released his question. "Why didn't you believe me?"

Harry's eyes filled with tears, and for a moment James thought he was going to cry. Instead he took a deep breath, swallowed twice, pursed his lips, and blinked the tears away. James had rarely seen him war so valiantly against teardrops. He smiled sadly. His child was growing up.

James had no idea how to respond to Harry's query. It had never occurred to him to think that would be the source of Harry's hurt. James recalled a time when he was young that his parents hadn't believed in him, and after all the years that had gone by, it still stung. A psychic wound that never quite healed. The thought that he had done the same to Harry nearly took his breath away.

"Have you ever been so afraid that you couldn't think logically?" James asked.

Harry shook his head, but stopped suddenly. "Maybe," he admitted. He thought briefly about how long it took him to understand that Tom Riddle could not be trusted that night in the Chamber of Secrets, but he didn't want to mention that memory to his father now. It seemed unwise to remind James about all the mistakes he had made that day. Or how James had said he didn't think he could trust Harry after everything that had happened. He had come back later to apologize, to say it wasn't true, that he trusted Harry and hadn't meant his words. But it clearly had not been true; if today proved nothing else, it proved that his father didn't trust him, even though his lies had always been rare, and he'd never once lied to the man since that day.

James waited for Harry to elaborate. When he didn't, James cleared his throat to cover the silence as he tried to think. "That's what happened to me today. I was terrified when you were up there with the dragon. I was afraid you were going to end up killed. I never thought Sirius would have gone behind my back."

"You trusted him, but not me," Harry charged, blinking rapidly.

"No," James assured him. "I trust you both. I suppose I jumped to conclusions about what had happened, and when I realized my conclusion was wrong, it took me a little while to wrap my head around it."

"Why would you think I was lying?"

James ran a hand nervously through his hair. His first instinct was to assure Harry that he hadn't thought he was lying, but the truth was that he had, and Harry knew it. And he had no good excuses for it, and no good reasons to explain it. He had betrayed Harry's trust by withholding his own when it mattered most, even though Harry had earned his trust several times over. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "The only thing I can tell you is that I didn't know that whole story, so I was trying to do the best I could with the bits of information I had, which was that I had told you to forfeit, and you didn't."

"But I-"

"Please, Harry, let me finish."

Harry closed his mouth and gave a small nod.

"I think it was easy for me to assume you were disobeying because if I were in your place, I'd have disobeyed my father. Wild hippogriffs wouldn't have been able to keep me from competing when I was your age. And sometimes I forget that you're much more mature than I was, and much better behaved. And it just never occurred to me to think that Sirius would have told you to compete. I'm still not entirely sure what to do with that bit of information, truth be told. But it wasn't that I didn't trust you, Harry. It wasn't that."

"Yes, it was," Harry spat. "If you trusted me, you'd have let me explain." He clinked his teacup back onto the tray and rose huffily. His lip trembled again as he looked down at his father. "You wouldn't even let me explain." He turned and strode from the room. A moment later, James heard his bedroom door shut.

James swore softly, trying to decide what to do now. Food, he decided. They'd both feel better with a little food, but when he knocked on Harry's door to tell him that lunch was ready, Harry didn't answer. And even though James had seen him flop over toward the wall when he entered, he resolutely pretended to be asleep. James sat with him for what felt like a lifetime, waiting for him to roll over and acknowledge his father's presence, but he didn't. No matter what James said, Harry continued to feign sleep. Finally James gave up and left with a heavy heart to sit at the dining table and run his spoon absently through his now-cold soup. The thought of eating made his stomach churn.


	18. Grief and Grudges

James was pretzeled dejectedly in his favorite chair, hugging himself tightly. He used to sit that way when he was younger, curling in on himself to shut out the world. He had a sudden overwhelming yearning to floo himself to Potter Manor and sit in his old bedroom. Or maybe in his parents' old room. He did that sometimes, when he was particularly forlorn. When his parents died, he and Lily discussed moving into the manor, but in the end, he didn't think he was ready to occupy his parents' space, even though it had once been his space as well. And so they had stayed in their happy little cottage, chosen mostly for its proximity to the manor, though with the added bonus of being next door to Bathilda Bagshot.

Lily in particular was excited about the possibilities being next door to the famed historian offered. She spent hours over there, picking Bathilda's brain and drinking her tea. Bathilda returned the favor, bringing them profiteroles out of the blue and sometimes meals, once she learned that Lily couldn't cook. After Harry was born, she would come over and spend hours holding him. She was always happy to take him whenever James or Lily needed a break or an evening away. James really should drop in on her sometime, he decided.

James considered moving into the manor again after Lily died, but by then he wanted to live somewhere far away from Godric's Hollow. He decided to sell the place, but Sirius talked him out of it, telling him that he might want it someday. He repeated Sirius' words back to him after Walburga Black died, and Sirius wanted to sell Grimmauld Place. They were both glad now, though neither of them had any desire to return to their childhood homes. The thought of existing amongst all that empty space made James feel a little dizzy.

James had just decided he should try to talk to Harry again when the floo roared to life and Remus stepped out into the parlor.

James looked up. "Hi," he said forlornly.

"How are things?" Remus asked sympathetically.

"Whenever I try to talk to him, he pretends to be asleep." James closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. "He's never going to forgive me."

"He will."

James chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before he answered, leveling his eyes at his friend. "I was really awful to him."

Remus walked himself to the sofa and dropped down across from James. "You were a little angry, but you were angry because you love him, and I think he knows that. Underneath it all."

"He's very hurt."

Remus nodded, not sure what to say.

"Because I didn't believe him. Because I wouldn't give him a chance to explain."

Remus nodded again. "You were doing the best you could with the information you had. If it makes you feel any better, I was right there with you. I thought he was being purposely defiant. It wouldn't be the first time, after all."

"But you didn't shout at him, or hurl accusations at him, did you?"

"If I'd been the one dealing with him, I probably would have," Remus confessed.

"You're lying. You never shout."

"Well, that's true, but I'd have hurled the same accusations you did. You couldn't have known what Sirius did."

"Do you remember our first year, when we were accused of flooding the Slytherin common room, but we hadn't done it?"

Remus nodded, wincing a bit at the memory. "Yes. McGonagall shouted at us so loud and so long I thought we'd be permanently deaf by the time she finished."

"Then we were suspended and sent home. My parents were furious, even my mother. I tried to tell them I hadn't done it, but they wouldn't believe me. My dad gave me a smacking. It was the first one I'd had in years. And I hadn't done anything wrong. I held a grudge for the longest time. My dad brought it up the day I graduated, taking the mickey out of me for it. He still thought I'd done it and lied about it. I realized I had never forgiven them for not believing me. Six years later, and I was still carrying it around with me like it had only just happened. So I told them again that I hadn't done it, and they finally believed me. My dad apologized, and I told him it was fine, but it really wasn't. Thinking about it still hurts. It hurts not to be trusted."

"Yes," Remus agreed softly. "It does."

"Oh," James whispered when he realized where Remus' thoughts had gone. "Moony, I..."

"It's water under the bridge, Prongs," Remus assured him, but there was pain in those golden brown eyes.

James lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Seemed he couldn't do much of anything right today. "I'm a buffoon."

"Maybe, but not nearly so often as most people."

James shrugged. He wasn't so sure that was true. At the moment, he felt he had exhibited far more than his fair share of buffoonery in his lifetime. "You don't think Harry's going to end up holding a grudge against me for years, do you?"

"No, because you came around very quickly."

"Only because Sirius came clean. If he hadn't, I'd probably still be up there bawling Harry out right now. And he deserves better than that."

Remus took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, wishing he knew what to say to cheer his friend up or, better yet, fix his quarrel with his son.

"Harry's probably nursing a hurt ego at the moment, but the good thing about wounded pride is that it heals quickly. You've told him you're sorry and that you regret what you did, and I think he'll understand that."

James nodded. "Hopefully."

"You know, my parents spanked me, too, that day, but I didn't hold a grudge against them. I knew, even at the time, that they had more reason to believe McGonagall than me. The evidence was pretty stacked against us, and by then we had quite the history of flooding their common room. That was, what, the third time we'd done it?"

"Fourth," James corrected him, smiling a little at the memory. "And the second time we'd been caught."

"I was sort of inclined to think it was payback for all the things we got away with and all the times Sirius got us off punishment."

James gave a small smile. "He was quite the character, wasn't he?"

"Completely full of himself," Remus agreed. "Still is."

"I used to be completely in awe of the way he could start the crocodile tears at a moment's notice. I never did understand how the teachers never saw through him."

Silenced reigned for long moments. "How's he doing?"

"You broke his nose."

"Oh," James responded. He found he wasn't sorry. "Is he angry?"

Remus shook his head. "He was surprisingly calm about the whole thing, actually. I would have expected him to come over here and shoot curses at your head, but then he never did get angry with you much, did he?"

"No," James agreed. "He's a very forgiving sort."

"Well, he is where you're concerned, at least."

"I'm not sorry for punching him."

"He's not sorry for telling Harry to compete."

James took in that information silently, scratching at his hair. He dropped his hands and cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit he hadn't fallen into in years. The pops echoed satisfyingly in the silent room.

"Would you like some tea or something?" he asked Remus. "I've got tomato soup on the stove, and cheese sandwiches, though they're probably warm by now."

"Actually, I was thinking I'd like to have a word with Harry, if you didn't mind."

James thought about that for a moment. He knew it was a good idea; it would probably do Harry good to see a friendly face. Still, the thought of Harry confiding in Remus about how upset he was with his father made James' stomach crunch with jealousy. He warred with himself only briefly before allowing it. Remus had always been good at putting things in a new light.

Harry groaned inwardly when he heard the knock at the door. He flopped over onto his side, turning his back to the door. This would be the third time his father had come to try to speak to him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he was being stupid and immature. If roles were reversed, James would have forgiven him ten times over by now, but he couldn't quite force himself to return the favor, somehow. After the door opened a crack, he was surprised to hear, not James' voice saying his name, but Remus'.

"May I come in?" Remus asked softly. Harry battled with himself for a moment. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to Remus any more than he wanted to talk to his father. Remus would probably side with James anyway. The Marauders always presented a united front. Sometimes Harry wished he'd known them when he was younger, so he could have known what they were like when they were his age, and possibly use it against them. He wondered if his children would feel the same way about him and Ron and Hermione.

He rolled over. "Yeah, come on in," he told Remus.

"Do you mind if I turn on the light?"

Harry shook his head, not lifting it from the pillow.

Remus flipped on the light and sat at the foot of Harry's bed. Harry pushed himself up. He raked his fingernail back and forth across a freckle on his forearm.

"All right, Pup?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded, then thought better of it. He shook his head as his face crumpled. He closed his eyes tightly and bit his lip, berating himself for the tears catching in his throat. He swallowed them down. When he was sure they were gone, he opened his eyes to find that Remus was looking away as he fought with his emotions. Harry was thankful for it; even though he'd done it before, the thought of blubbering in front of Remus now embarrassed him.

Remus reached out and put a hand over Harry's hand to stop his scratching. He looked down and saw that he had scratched the freckle raw without realizing it. He stared at the angry red line he had left and felt the sting for the first time. He rubbed absently at the spot, trying to soothe it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged. "There's nothing to talk about." He didn't know how to put words to what he was feeling anyway. He wasn't even entirely sure what emotion it was that had lodged itself in his chest; he only knew he wanted it to go away.

"He loves you," Remus said quietly. "That's why he was so angry. He was frightened for you."

Harry nodded. "I know."

"He spends a lot of his time worrying about you."

Harry nodded again. He knew that, too. Didn't change anything.

"You've heard the story about Pettigrew betraying your parents, right?" Remus asked. Harry nodded, wondering what this could possibly have to do with anything. "Then you'll remember that they used him because they thought they couldn't trust me."

Harry blinked. He had forgotten that detail, but now that Remus mentioned it, he remembered hearing Sirius say it that day in the Three Broomsticks, but he hadn't paid it much attention. There were more pressing things going on that day. Now, as he looked in Remus' face, he could see that Remus had been deeply hurt.

"I was underground at the time, with the werewolves, trying to convince them not to trust Voldemort. It was dangerous work, not least because I could have been killed by Death Eaters at any moment. Werewolves don't usually congregate. In our transformed state, we're... highly territorial. It's not terribly uncommon for two werewolves to fight to the death if they meet. When I first found out what had happened, why your parents had chosen Peter, I was beside myself. I was so angry I could hardly think straight, and so devastated I didn't think I could look your dad or Sirius either one in the eye ever again. They both apologized a hundred times over, but I just couldn't make myself forgive them.

"I wanted to punish them for not believing in me. I wanted them to hurt as badly as I was hurting. But then I realized that there was nothing to be gained from that. I was hurting them, sure, and part of me liked that, but I was also hurting myself by robbing myself of the company of my two best friends. They knew they had been wrong, and they were already punishing themselves for it far better than I ever could, especially your dad. He's a very trusting fellow, and I think he considers it the height of dishonor not to trust the people around him, especially the people he loves. Trust is very important to him. It always has been. Having it and keeping it and valuing it in others."

"Then why wouldn't he believe me?" Harry asked. The annoying lump returned to his throat. He swallowed it down and ran a sleeve across his face to hide the single tear that had escaped his eye.

"Would you have believed you, if you had been in his place?"

"Yes," Harry replied without a pause. Remus quirked an eyebrow. "I would have," Harry insisted, even though he knew he probably wouldn't. The next time he saw Sirius, he'd have to work not to kick him in the shins.

"He could have at least given me a chance to defend myself," Harry muttered.

"He could have," Remus agreed. "And he should have. He was in the wrong, and no mistake, but he was only angry because he cares about you so much and he wants to keep you safe."

"Still hurts," Harry explained softly.

"I know," Remus said sympathetically. "I was still hurt long after I forgave your dad and Sirius. Sometimes it still sneaks up on me and hurts all over again. I think it's one of those sad facts of life that, given enough time, we all hurt one another. But he's sorry, and he's trying to make it up to you, and that's something, at least, right?"

"I don't want to forgive him yet," Harry whispered.

"You don't have to. Only don't let this become a wedge between you. You can decide right now if you want to hang onto this and feed it, or if you want to let it go. When the day comes that you're on your death bed, I can guarantee you that you won't be thinking about how you should have stayed angry longer."

Harry nodded. Remus' words made sense. He hated that.

"I'd like to be alone now, please."

Remus patted his knee. "Sure thing. I'll see you later?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Later."

Remus returned downstairs to find James sitting woodenly in front of the fire. "How did it go?" he asked, without looking up.

"He's hurt, but he's also very forgiving."

"He talked to you, then?"

"Yes."

James nodded, wishing he didn't feel so damned jealous that Harry was speaking to Remus and not to him. But then, Remus hadn't been an arse to him today.

A creak on the stairs made James turn. Harry was descending. "Hi," he said softly when both of his stocking-clad feet had landed at the bottom.

"Hi," James replied, leaping out of the chair. They stared at one another awkwardly. Harry looked at the ground. James coughed.

"Are you hungry?"

Harry nodded.

"I've got soup and sandwiches. Or we could go out. I was planning to take you to London today anyway."

"Soup and sandwiches are fine," Harry assured him. James rushed off to the kitchen to warm the soup, getting a bowl for himself and one for Remus as well.

"No, I should be going," Remus said, when James presented him with the soup.

"Please stay," Harry said quietly, the tiniest of tremors in his voice. James glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Remus saw the slightest twinge of a wound cross his face. He sighed and agreed to stay.

"Harry, I didn't mean to-" James began when they were all seated.

"It's fine, Dad."

"No, it isn't," James replied. "I wish I knew what to say, but there really isn't much to say, except that I'm sorry."

"I know. And if Sirius ever tells me I can do something again, I'll check with you. I should have done this time, only I didn't think... well... I didn't think he'd..."

"I didn't think he would, either," James finished for him, wanting to end the awkward part of the conversation as quickly as possible.

"Maybe he's the one we should both be cross with," Harry suggested.

James let out a tiny laugh. "No doubt," he agreed. He gave Harry a small smile. Harry returned it, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. James sighed, wishing he could make Harry smile. He was struck by sudden inspiration. "You want to hear a joke?"

"Sure."

"What do you call a deer with no eyes?"

"What?"

"No-eye deer."

"That was really bad, Dad," Harry scolded.

"What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?"

"What?"

"Still no-eye deer."

Harry suppressed a smile.

"What did the fish say when it ran into a brick wall?"

"What?"

"Dam."

Harry let out a small snort of laughter. "That's terrible. It's the worst joke I've ever heard."

"You think you can do better?" James asked, smiling.

"In my sleep," Harry told him.

"Go ahead, then."

"What do you call a dog with no legs?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid to ask."

"It doesn't matter. He's not coming to you anyway."

"Ah," James said with a small smile. "There's nothing like a good joke."

"And that was nothing like a good joke," Harry responded.

"Not even remotely," James agreed.

"But it was better than yours. No-eye deer?"

"What do you call a woman with one leg?" James asked.

"No-eye deer?"

"Eileen."

"You both have to stop now," Remus ordered, smiling alongside them. "Or I'm going to find new friends."

"Remus holds puns to very high standards," James informed Harry gravely.

"I'd noticed," Harry replied, just as gravely.

James reached over to muss Harry's hair. "I love you," he said softly.

Harry smiled. "I love you, too," he replied. They talked more easily throughout the rest of their meal.

After Remus left, Harry and James retreated to the parlor to play chess. "I've been thinking," James said. "I was wrong to tell you to forfeit in the first place. I may hate the way he went about it, but Sirius was right about you competing. I'm not going to say I like the idea, or that I'm comfortable with it, but at least this way, we know what we're up against, and we can make sure you're well-prepared. I should have listened to you in the beginning."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Thanks," he said, not sure if it was the right thing to say, but sure he needed to say something.

"Wait here," James said, disappearing up the stairs. He returned a moment later and handed Harry the invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map. "I want you to take these. You need them much more than I do."

"Thanks," Harry said again, feeling oddly touched that his father was giving them to him. That he trusted him with them after he had abused them last year. He smiled a little. His father_ trusted him_ with them.

"I probably should have given them back to you at the beginning of the term. Use them to keep yourself safe, and give Sirius a little bit of Hell."

"Are you going to forgive him?" Harry asked softly.

"Not today," James replied.

"But you said you thought he was right."

"I think his idea was right. His method was abysmal."

Harry couldn't argue with that.

"Are you going to forgive him?" James asked.

"Not today," Harry replied.

"He'll probably be more bothered by you being angry with him than me being angry with him."

"I don't care," Harry responded, almost harshly.

James nodded. He understood completely, and he didn't think he was in any position to be giving advice on the subject at the moment.

"Are you going to forgive me?" James asked softly. He was struck by the sudden irony of the situation, the child being in the right and the parent running off to him for forgiveness.

Harry nodded almost imperceptibly. "I already have. Checkmate."

James barely reacted to his loss. "You're a very good person, you know."

Harry shrugged. "Not really."

"Yes, you are. You're like your mother that way. Very compassionate." Sometimes James wished he could be more like Harry.

"You forgive me when I act like an ass."

"You've acted like an ass before? When was that?" James teased.

Harry glared at him.

"Come here," James said, standing and pulling Harry to his feet. He embraced the boy fiercely, kissing his hair. Soon, he'd be too tall for James to be able to do that anymore. He pushed the worry in his gut aside and told himself that Harry would be fine. Whatever happened, they would face it, because that was what they had always done. And they would overcome it, because they had always done that as well. "Thank you, Harry."

"Do you want to go do something?" Harry asked suddenly. "Only I'd kind of like to get out of the house."

"Sure, what did you have in mind?"

Harry shrugged. "You're the one who always has the good ideas."

"We could go to the forest. Do a little hiking. There are still a few hours before nightfall."

Harry decided he'd like that very much and disappeared to don warm clothes. James stayed in the parlor after he had gone, glad the worst of the row was over. He still sensed hesitation on Harry's part, though he could hardly blame the boy. But he wasn't worried about the two of them anymore. He made a mental note to thank Remus for whatever it was he had said; it had certainly done the trick. He and his son were going to be fine.


	19. Waxing and Wailing

Special thank to ObsidianEmbrace for being my beta and for helping me hash out the details.

* * *

When Harry arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, Sirius was leaning against the wall next to her, his hands in his pockets and no expression upon his face. His nose had been fixed, though he still sported a blackened eye. When he saw Harry, he brightened immediately, pushing himself off the wall to greet Harry.

"I don't want to talk to you," Harry said brusquely, brushing past him.

Sirius' smile faded. "Harry, I never meant to get you into trouble."

"Well, you did," Harry snapped, rounding on him. "You got me shouted at in front of the whole school."

"I think we should give your father at least a little bit of credit for that," Sirius replied. Harry turned to the Fat Lady, ready to give her the password. Sirius stepped in front of the portrait, blocking his exit. "Harry, please talk to me."

"I already told you. I don't want to talk to you. My dad's in the castle looking for you. Why don't you go talk to him?"

"I'm not entirely sure I want to talk to him. Last time I talked to him, he punched me." Sirius fingers flicked absently to his eye. He touched it gingerly before wincing and jerking his hand away.

"You deserved it," Harry told him. He was sure he would feel some sympathy for Sirius soon, but he wasn't ready to give into it just yet.

Sirius shrugged. Harry scowled, wondering if Sirius was even the slightest bit sorry for what he had caused.

"Move out of my way," Harry ordered.

"No," Sirius replied. "Not until you hear me out."

"Fine, then, say whatever it is you have to say."

"You're going to listen?"

"I haven't got much choice, have I?" Harry hitched his bag onto his shoulder, waiting impatiently for Sirius to continue.

Sirius smiled a tiny smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something in those eyes that Harry wasn't used to seeing there. Something he couldn't quite place. He searched them trying to put his finger on it. Fear, he finally realized with a jolt. Sirius was afraid. He had always thought of his godfather as fearless. He felt his anger dissipate. He drooped, dropping his bag to the ground.

"I know this is going to sound insane, since I sent you right into a dragon's jaws, but I was trying to protect you. You're old enough to understand that the world isn't always safe for you, and whoever's behind this isn't going to stop. Staying out of the tournament will not keep you safe. It'll just make whoever's doing this come up with some other way to hurt you. At least this way, we know what they're doing, and we can make sure it doesn't work. And hopefully, we can work out who's behind it and find them so that you really will be safe. Well, safer, at least."

Harry nodded. That made sense, he supposed.

"That was why I told you to compete. I really did believe your father would come around before the task. And then the situation got away from me a bit, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm not sorry for telling you to go ahead, because I did it to keep you safe, and I'll never be sorry for that."

Harry nodded again. "I understand."

They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Does your eye hurt much?" Harry asked after a painful pause.

"Not too bad. I've had worse, truth be told. I've been keeping bruise salve on it, so it should be gone in a day or two."

Harry nodded. He was glad. Angry or not, he didn't want Sirius to be hurt.

"Hagrid rescued your dragon for you, by the way," Sirius announced. He pulled the miniature Horntail out of his robes and handed it to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry murmured. "I was thinking of naming it Iago."

Sirius smiled. "I had a stuffed dragon called Iago once."

"You already told me that."

"Did I?"

"Yes, three days ago."

"Ah, yes, I remember that now." He gave Harry a smile. The touch of fear was still in his eyes. Harry thought he must be more nervous than he was letting on. It wasn't like him to be forgetful. He reached out and mussed Harry's hair. "I suppose I should go face your father. If I don't show up for breakfast tomorrow, promise me you'll form a searching party."

Harry promised and Sirius wandered off, leaving Harry alone in front of the portrait hole. He took a deep breath and entered. His eyes immediately found Ron and Hermione sitting with their backs to the door. Harry joined them on the sofa. "Hi," he said softly.

"Was it awful?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. She held a pair of knitting needles in her hand. Harry had never known she knitted. Judging by the misshapen lump hanging off the end of her needles, she didn't do it particularly well. It looked to Harry like a fuzzy amoeba. Hermione put down her knitting needles, along with whatever it was she was knitting and fixed Harry with a sympathetic stare.

Harry shook his head. "By the time we got home, he felt guilty for shouting at me."

"He was awfully angry," Hermione said skeptically.

"He always calms down quickly," Harry explained. "You just have to ride out the initial outburst. What are you knitting?"

Hermione held up her amoeba. "Isn't it wonderful? It's a hat! Well, it isn't very good just yet, but I'll get better. And I'm going to be getting lots of practice. I've decided to free the house elves. I'm going to hide the hats around the room, and when they come up to clean, they'll be freed. Isn't that wonderful?"

"What if they don't want to be freed?" Ron asked.

Hermione leveled her gaze at him. "Of course they want to be freed. Why wouldn't they?"

Harry and Ron glanced at one another behind her back. They knew better than to try explaining it to her.

"Have you opened your egg yet?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, no, I haven't. I forgot all about it, actually."

"Go get it!" Ron ordered. "We need to see this clue. You would have been proud of me, mate. It took all my willpower, but I didn't open it while you were gone."

Harry wouldn't have cared if he had. "Great job," he said. He carried his bag up the stairs to his dormitory and fetched the egg.

After plopping down so hard on the couch that Hermione was nearly thrown off, Harry opened the egg. A loud wailing filled the common room. Ron immediately plugged his ears. "Shut it!" he yelled over the racket. Harry clamped the egg closed and looked around. All the Gryffindors were staring at him. A hush had filled the room. The sudden silence felt louder to Harry than the wailing had been.

"Well, that was different," George called from a corner where he and Fred had had their heads together whispering feverishly a moment before. As one, the Gryffindors breathed a collective sigh of relief and conversation slowly resumed.

"What do you reckon?" Harry asked.

"Maybe you have to face a banshee," Seamus suggested from a nearby sofa.

"Don't be silly. Dumbledore would never make his students face a banshee," Hermione said dismissively.

"Couldn't be worse than a dragon, could it?" Harry asked.

"Fair point," she allowed.

"It's the Cruciatus Curse!" Neville moaned, his eyes growing wide and fearful.

"I'm sure that's not it," Harry said decisively. He resisted the urge to open the egg again just to see if he could make anything out in the screeching. He decided to play Ron at chess instead. February was still a long way off, and he deserved a bit of a break, after all. He had only just finished the first task.

"Hey, where's Ginny?" Harry asked after they began their game. "I haven't seen her since Friday. She wasn't at the task."

"She was sick. She didn't say anything because she didn't want to worry you. She spend most of the day yesterday in the hospital wing, but she was back this morning. She's been in the dormitory sleeping most of the day."

"What was wrong with her?"

Ron shrugged. "No idea."

"She's fine," Hermione assured Harry. "She was a mess about missing the task, though."

When it was time to go to bed, Hermione hid her hats throughout the room and beneath piles of rubbish. After she had gone, Harry and Ron cleaned the rubbish off. "They should at least be allowed to see what they're picking up," Ron muttered.

"I'm not sure it would work, anyway," Harry added. "They're allowed to handle clothes. I mean, they do our laundry all the time. They just can't be given clothes. We can't hand them the clothes, but if we put it in the bin or leave it on the floor, they can get them out and wash them and everything."

Ron shrugged. "I never really understood house elf magic very well." Harry had no answer for that. He wasn't entirely sure he understood it himself.

When Sirius appeared in the Astronomy tower after speaking to Harry, James was waiting for him, arms crossed angrily over his chest. He noted with a small touch of satisfaction the bruise around Sirius' eye. The satisfaction lasted only a second before guilt took over. No matter how angry he was, or how much Sirius may have deserved it, he shouldn't have punched his friend.

"Hello," Sirius said casually. He didn't even have the grace to appear sheepish.

The guilt dissolved once again. James narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Is that all you have to say to me? Just hello?"

"Yes," Sirius replied matter-of-factly.

"No explanation for why you decided to completely undermine me in front of my child and put his life in danger, then?" James asked. "Not even an attempt at reconciliation?"

"I already explained it to you, James," Sirius said softly.

"You had no right," James snapped.

"Maybe not," Sirius admitted. "But I was trying to do what was best for Harry. I think it was the right thing to do, but even if it wasn't, I did it for the right reasons, and that has to count for something, yeah?"

James thought about that for a moment. He supposed that did count for something, and he knew how much Sirius loved Harry and fretted over him. He always had, since the day he was born. James fought the memory of the way Sirius had misted when they asked him to be Harry's godfather. Harry was only hours old at the time. Sirius sat on Lily's bed in Saint Mungo's with him, looking lovingly into his eyes, and said, "You hear that, Little Pronglet, I'm your godfather." Then he reached out to touch Harry's hand, and Harry grasped his finger with his whole fist. Sirius burst into tears, a rare occurrence indeed. "Did you see that? Did you see what he did?" Sirius asked, choking on a joy-filled sob. "I think he knows me."

"I think he must," James had replied with a smile. He didn't have the heart to tell Sirius that Harry had done the same thing to a healer not fifteen minutes before.

"That's right, Little Pronglet," Sirius cooed. "I'm your godfather. No matter what happens, you're always safe with me."

Sirius would go through hell or high water to keep Harry safe, James knew. He looked into the silver eyes of his greatest and oldest friend and saw something he almost didn't recognize there. Like his son before him, he recognized it as fear and realized this was no easier for Sirius than it was for him - that Sirius was every bit as frightened for Harry as James was. He had known it was true, of course, but seeing the evidence reflected in those eyes reassured him of his friend's intentions. They had both been through quite a lot for Harry, and for one another.

"Would it make you feel better if I apologized?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, it really would," James replied.

"Then I'm sorry."

"Are you really?"

Sirius took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I upset you, and I'm very sorry for causing a row between you and Harry. I never would have done that on purpose in a million years."

James nodded. He supposed that was a beginning.

"I'm sorry for punching you. I shouldn't have done."

Sirius shrugged. "What are a few punches between friends?"

"Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks?" James asked. "I could use some company, I think."

"I should work," Sirius offered. "I haven't been able to concentrate much the last few days."

"I know the feeling," James replied with a small nod.

"Well, I suppose another few hours won't hurt me," Sirius reasoned.

James smiled. "Some things never change."

On the fourth floor, they came across McGonagall, clicking down the corridor.

"Hello, James. I take it you haven't killed your son?"

"Not today," James told her gravely. "But he's young yet. There's still time."

She turned down the corners of her mouth in an expression that had been carefully cultivated over the years to look stern while hiding the amusement she felt. Sirius and James had learned to read through it by the end of their first term at Hogwarts.

"I do hope you realize," McGonagall continued, "that Rita Skeeter was in the stands scribbling furiously the entire time you were screaming and punching people."

James scratched at his head sheepishly. "I was afraid of that," he mumbled. "Oh, well. At least I know she can't make it worse than it actually was, right?" Neither Sirius nor McGonagall replied. "Right?" James repeated nervously.

"I wouldn't put anything past that one," said McGonagall. "She was like that when she was young, too. Always had a story, and she was always the heroine. You couldn't tell her anything."

James turned a tad gray.

"Well, Minerva, we should be going," Sirius said quickly, steering James away.

"I still don't understand how you can call her Minerva so casually. I half expect her to give me detention every time I try it," James said when he had resigned himself to the article Skeeter would probably write about him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I asked her if I could call her Minnie?"

James shook his head. "Feeling a little suicidal, were you?"

"Must have been. Anyway, she told me I could call her Minnie if I wanted to, but that if I did, she'd stick her boot so far up my-"

"Whoa!" James interrupted.

"That's what I said," Sirius replied. "And then I decided Minerva was just fine."

"A wise decision," James agreed.

"Potter!" James turned to find Moody clomping after him. After he had finished reprimanding James for his "ridiculous display of temper" and "complete inability to keep a cool head in a crisis" and lack of "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he invited himself along to the Three Broomsticks.

"I could use some firewhiskey," he growled.

By the time they arrived in the Broomsticks, they had mostly hashed and rehashed Harry's performance with the dragon. "He has your talent on the broomstick, James," Moody said with an eerie smile. "You probably encouraged him, didn't you?"

"You know I did," James replied. Moody had spent hours listening to stories of Harry's antics on toy broomsticks, and then real broomsticks, as James gushed proudly about his son.

"He's even better than I am, I think," James said proudly

Sirius agreed quickly.

"Quiet, you!" James ordered, sipping his butterbeer.

"What are we having today, gentlemen?" Rosmerta asked with a friendly smile.

Moody thought for only a fraction of a second. "A BLT," he decided.

James regarded him a moment, as though waiting for something. Sirius nudged him. "Your turn," he whispered.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have shepherd's pie," James told Rosmerta. When she had gone, he turned to Moody. "Since when have you like tomatoes?"

"I've always liked tomatoes," Moody growled.

"No, you haven't. You used to claim you were allergic to them just so no one would serve them to you. We used to dare one another to sneak them into your food just to see if you'd notice. Kingsley and I were the only ones who could ever do it with any real success rate."

"Well, I like them now!" Moody snapped. "Are you questioning me?"

"I would never do such a thing," James backpedaled. "Only I am curious to know when you started liking them. You wouldn't even let us come near you with them. You always said the smell made you nauseous."

"Haven't you ever started liking something you didn't used to like?" Moody asked.

"Well, sure, but never something I hated the way you hated tomatoes."

"Does Scrimgeour have any ideas about this tournament business?" Moody asked suddenly.

James shook his head, allowing the change of subject to go unchallenged. "None, although Dumbledore's been trying to get him to investigate the old Riddle Place down in Little Hangleton. He won't do it, though."

"Idiot," Moody barked. James suppressed a smile. Moody had never made much of a secret out of his feelings for Scrimgeour. James tended to agree with him, though he thought it wise not to say so out loud.

"I've been been considering taking a team down there on my own, though it would probably get me sacked."

"Probably. Scrimgeour never had much patience with dissension in the ranks."

"I don't care. I'd rather lose my job a thousand times over than risk anything happening to Harry."

Moody nodded resolutely. "I'll come with you," he declared. "Can it wait until Saturday?"

"Well, the next task isn't until February, so I don't think five days will make or break us. I'll talk to Tonks and Kingsley. I'm sure they'd be up for it."

"How is old Tonks?"

"She's well, provided she can remain upright. I'll tell her you asked after her."

"Ask her if she's being vigilant," Moody commanded.

"I'm sure she is," James told him. "But I'll ask her for you all the same."


	20. Clues and Caveats

_"We're all afraid for Harry," reports Draco Malfoy, a handsome fourth-year and close, personal friend of Harry Potter. "Professor Snape says his father was an awful bully when they were in school, but we never could have guessed it was that bad. __Harry's always been really concerned about what his father thinks, and now I suppose we know why.__" Professor Severus Snape, the popular Potions professor at Hogwarts, refused to comment, citing a conflict of interest and fear of retaliation, though he was careful to say that he believes the Boy-Who-Lived to be safe. If James Potter's display of temper after Harry's stunning victory during the first task was any indication, one wonders if that is true, and if James Potter is a fit parent for such a sensitive child as Harry._

James groaned a final time as he read the final line of Rita Skeeter's article. He had groaned so many times over the past few minutes that his throat felt raw. It was even worse than he had feared. He was expecting criticism and exaggerations and accusations, but he was not expecting the suggestion that he somehow wasn't a fit father. He wouldn't have thought that even Rita Skeeter would stoop so low. James folded the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table, trying to decide whether he should skive off work. He doubted he'd be much use, but having something to take his mind off his troubles wouldn't be a bad thing.

The floo roared to life and Remus came through it. "Morning," he said cheerfully. A touch too cheerfully. James immediately guess why he had come.

"Morning," James replied, his voice coming out more terse than he would have liked. It wasn't Remus' fault, after all. Remus eyed the newspaper a moment. He crossed to the coffee table and sat down, pushing the paper behind him so that James couldn't reach it. He wore a very large smile.

"If you're trying to keep me from seeing Skeeter's article, you're too late," James reported glumly.

Remus' smile faded. "It wasn't that bad," he said sympathetically.

"Wasn't that bad?" James asked. "There will probably be a mob waiting for me at the ministry. I'm surprised Fudge isn't here stuttering at me yet."

As though he had wished it upon himself, the floo flared. James and Remus ducked behind the sofa.

"James?" Fudge's voice called. "James!"

James held his breath. He didn't have the patience for Fudge today. And then there was the fact that he never managed to have a conversation with Remus without insulting him, and, while James had managed to insult the minister of magic to his face many times without Fudge being any the wiser, he wasn't sure he could maintain his sense of humor today. The fire extinguished, and James lay down to peek beneath the sofa just to be sure Fudge was really gone. Before he could be interrupted again, he sent out a patronus.

"I'm not going to work today. I'm sick," he told Remus, coughing dramatically. "What were your plans for the day?"

"I was thinking of spending the day being turned down for work, but that's never much fun, so I'm open to suggestions, really."

James' mind was drawing a blank. He was quite sure staying here was a bad idea. Anyone could find him here, but he mostly wanted to crawl into his bed and pull the covers over his head like he had when he was a child.

"Maybe we can convince Sirius to be sick, too," Remus suggested.

James liked that idea. He was still trying to get himself back in everyone's good graces, so there was a good chance of success. In the end, though, Sirius begged off, claiming he couldn't miss his classes. James hmphed. That had never stopped him before. Okay, that had occasionally stopped him before. More often than not, really, now that James thought about it. But still, Sirius owed him after what he had done over the weekend. Never mind that James had forgiven him. Mostly.

Sirius, meanwhile, seemed determined to ensure that Harry stayed on top of the tournament.

"I can't make hide nor hair of it," Sirius said with a small shake of his head as the two of them listened intently to the egg's wailing for the fifth time. He had been trying various revelation spells in hopes that the shrieking would suddenly become clear.

"Maybe you have to listen to it at a certain time of day?" Sirius suggested. "But the only way to test that theory would be to leave it open all day, and I think I'd go batty having to listen to that for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Maybe you have to listen to it in a certain place," Harry replied.

"There's an idea. Maybe you... wait a second!"

Sirius grabbed the egg and ran off to the loo. A moment later, Harry heard water running. Harry was nonplussed as he rose to help himself to the contents of Sirius' ice box. He couldn't believe Sirius was taking a bath at a moment like this.

"Harry, come in here," Sirius called when the water stopped. Harry went tentatively and found Sirius kneeling by the tub, his head and shoulders soaked.

"Ooh, butterbeer! Did you bring me one?"

"No, but I can get you one, if you like."

"Nah, there's no time. Stick your head in the bathtub!"

"The bathtub?" Harry asked skeptically. He peeked into it and saw that the egg lay open at the bottom of the tub. "You have to listen to it in water?"

"Yes. Now shut up and stick your head in."

Harry dropped to his knees beside his godfather, handed the man his glasses, and stuck his head into the tub. The water was filled with eerie music that made little sense to Harry. When he rose, he found that Sirius had memorized the song and written it down.

"Come and seek us where our voices sound?" Harry questioned.

Sirius bit his lip for a moment. "I don't reckon I should tell you everything. You know this. Who would you only be able to understand in water?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. He found himself staring at a painting on Sirius' bathroom wall. He immediately recognized it as Remus' work. Remus was an excellent painter. James had quite a few of his originals in their home as well. Harry himself had two adorning the walls of his bedroom. James swore they'd be worth a fortune someday, but Remus always pooh-poohed the praise, insisting that no one would want to buy something painted by a werewolf.

This painting was titled "Beneath the Glassy Surface" and showed life in the Hogwarts Lake. The Giant Squid swam in and out of the frame, along with glittering fish in a rainbow of colors. Every once and again, one of the Marauders would swim by, his head encased in a bubble-head charm, and Harry had even seen a mermaid in it once or twice.

That was it! "Mermaids!"

Sirius nodded, beaming with pride. "You're going to have to rescue something from the mermaids."

"But won't I be eaten by the squid?" Harry asked, suddenly worried.

"Nah, the squid's harmless. It's the grindlylows you'll have to watch for. Do you know how to defeat grindlylows?"

Harry nodded. "Remus taught us last year."

Sirius smiled. "Of course he did. He really knows his stuff, that Remus. You know, when we were third years, he started a story that the Giant Squid was actually Godric Gryffindor in his animagus form. The story spread like fiendfyre. A few of the teachers even told it like it was true. Silly, really, when everyone knows it was a lion. McGonagall was fit to be tied. I think she took it as a personal insult to her house. All of her classes had a question on their finals about it that year. No one ever dared start a rumor about him again, although a few Slytherins tried to caravan and start one about Ravenclaw's form being a harpy. That one never made it very far, though. We'd mostly learnt our lesson by then."

"I wonder what my animagus form would be," Harry said thoughtfully.

"A stag, most likely. Same as your patronus. They're nearly always the same."

Harry nodded. That pleased him. He wondered what it would be like to go out running around with the Marauders during Remus' transformations. "Hey, Sirius, can you teach me to be an animagus?"

"Sure, I could," Sirius agreed, then thought better of it. "But I think you should probably talk to James about that." Sirius suspected James wouldn't be nearly so quick to forgive if they were to have another row over him overstepping his bounds with Harry.

"Or you could just teach me and we could tell him later," Harry suggested hopefully.

Sirius shook his head sternly. "I believe your father spoke to you about playing the two of us off one another, did he not?"

"That wasn't what I was doing," Harry said defensively. Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't!" Harry insisted. Sirius merely stared, his eyes boring into Harry's. Harry huffed angrily as he attempted to stare his godfather down. "Fine," he relented after a few moments. He grabbed his egg. "I should go."

"You don't have to leave," Sirius said quickly, but Harry was already stomping toward the door and didn't answer when Sirius called after him.

He decided to see Hagrid, hoping that would lighten his mood. He found Hagrid in back of his hut, tending to the skrewts, who were now the size of large dogs and had grown hard shells. Rita Skeeter was buzzing around him, peppering him with questions.

"Harry, how lovely to see you!" she said, smiling broadly, the moment she caught sight of Harry.

Harry turned back toward the castle quickly, but Skeeter was quicker. She ran to step in front of him.

"Leaving so soon?"

Harry said nothing. He reckoned that was the only way she wouldn't be able to twist his words into lies. He tried to step around her, but she stepped with him, blocking his exit every time.

"Oh, come now, you're not angry over my articles, are you?"

"You told lies about my dad!" Harry said angrily.

Rita's quill was out in the blink of an eye. "Care to set the record straight? Give us a picture of what it's really like growing up with James Potter?"

"It's brilliant," Harry snapped. "He's a wonderful father, and if you must know, he hardly ever loses his temper. The only reason he did Saturday was because of a misunderstanding, and as soon as he realized what had happened, he apologized about a zillion times, not that you bothered trying to find out."

Skeeter's smile faded. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were accusing me of something," she said waspishly.

"Maybe I am," Harry shot back, his face contorted in anger. "All you do is tell lies about people."

"If some people don't like the way they are represented in print, that is hardly my fault."

"Move out of my way," Harry ordered.

Rita watched Harry for a moment before acquiescing, holding out an arm as an invitation for him to pass. When he was far enough away to be sure she could no longer stop him, he turned and saw that she was chatting with Hagrid. He wondered if Hagrid would be wise enough not to give her any more ammunition, but he wasn't holding out much hope for that.

All in all, Harry was in a foul mood when he arrived in the common room just before dinner. Ginny approached him smiling. "Did you hear about the Yule Ball?" she asked excitedly. Harry nodded glumly. Ginny's smile faded. That only made Harry feel worse. He forced himself to smile for her and found that the exercise made him feel a little better.

"The champions and their dates are supposed to open the floor," Harry told her.

Ginny thought about that a moment. "I'm not a very good dancer," she whispered, leaning in close as though she were divulging a particularly sensitive secret.

"I'm not a very good dancer, either," Harry answered. Then he brightened. "Well, at least we'll look like idiots together, right?"

Ginny nodded emphatically. "Right," she agreed.

"And then maybe we can spend the rest of the dance throwing ink pellets at Malfoy. Git. Can you believe he told Skeeter he's my friend?"

"Maybe we could learn to dance," Ginny suggested, ignoring Harry's obvious desire to abuse Malfoy. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Maybe." Harry had very little interest in learning to dance, and had told McGonagall so when she informed him about the Yule Ball in Transfiguration that morning. Her response had been most unsympathetic. Her responses were rarely sympathetic, Harry had learned.

"Shall we go to dinner?" Ginny asked, pulling Harry away from his thoughts. As though it somehow knew that the word "dinner" had been mentioned, Harry's stomach growled loudly, setting Harry and Ginny both laughing. She took his hand as they walked down to the Great Hall.

Malfoy was waiting for him by the entrance. "Hey, Potter," he called the moment Harry's foot crossed the threshhold. "Bad luck about your dad."

Harry tried to bite down the surge of temper clawing at him. He looked up at the staff table and saw Sirius watching him, but he made no move to intervene. He recalled the way Sirius used to suddenly appear whenever he was in trouble during his first few years at Hogwarts. He couldn't decide if he was glad or not about Sirius giving him space. He usually found he wanted it when Sirius wasn't giving it to him, and didn't want it when he was. Things were far too confusing these days, Harry decided.

"You shut up about my dad," Harry ordered. Malfoy took a menacing step closer. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him, in all their goonish glory. Harry felt, rather than saw, the approach of Ron and Hermione. He also felt the eyes of the teachers upon him. He hoped he was imagining the hush that descended upon the hall. He heard an insect buzzing somewhere nearby - a large insect by the sound of it. It only barely registered as odd that a bug should be out in November.

"Or you'll what?" Malfoy sneered. Harry pulled out his wand, but was saved the trouble of having to answer by a whoosh over his shoulder. Next moment, Malfoy was being attacked by giant bat bogeys. Harry turned and found Ginny watching the commotion with a wry smile on her face. Harry had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he never even heard her speak the incantation.

"You're pretty brilliant, did you know?" Harry said approvingly as Malfoy tried to swat at the swooping bogeys. From the staff table, Harry heard a loud bark-like laugh and looked up to see Sirius laughing so hard he was wiping tears out of his eyes. He winked at Harry between breaths. It was Moody who came to intervene, clomping down the center aisle toward Harry and his friends.

"You'll all go have a seat if you know what's good for you," he growled at the group. Harry didn't need to be told twice.

"What about Draco?" Goyle asked.

"What about him?" Moody responded.

"How's he supposed to eat with those things all over him?"

Both Moody's eyes pointed at the still-swatting Malfoy. "I see nothing."

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing as he and his friends went to the Gryffindor table. Malfoy did not suffer long before Snape freed him from Ginny's spell, but it was long enough to lighten Harry's mood. By the end of dinner, he was laughing easily with his friends, especially when Ron realized with a jolt and a groan that he'd have to actually ask a girl to the Ball.

That night, Harry pulled his mirror from his nightstand, feeling a little nag of guilt when he thought of how he had abandoned it recently. In retrospect, he realized he should have talked to James about the first task, but he'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten. He vowed to do better about keeping in touch; he knew how much James missed him when he was gone. The truth was that Harry missed James, too, but he usually kept so busy that he didn't think about it often. James, on the other hand, was in an empty house, where he passed Harry's empty room every day.

"Dad," Harry called into the mirror. James was there in a second, smiling. There were stars in the background.

"Where are you?"

"On Remus' roof."

"What are you doing there?"

"Hiding from the fallout of Skeeter's article. I had five holwers before I managed to get out of the house this morning. I'd hate to think how many will be waiting for me when I get home. Someone also sent me a cursed tie."

"A cursed tie?" Harry asked, shocked.

"It's meant to tighten around a person's neck and never come off. Nasty business. Luckily for me, I know better than to take gifts from strangers. And unluckily for the person who sent it, she was stupid enough to sign her name to it. You have to wonder what a person's thinking about, sending a cursed tie to a well-known auror. She's already been arrested."

James smiled a little, but Harry couldn't see any humor in the situation. "You shouldn't worry about Skeeter. No one who matters believes her."

"I know, but it's still a little disconcerting to get howlers from people you've never met. I've had them before, but usually it's about work business, so they come to the office. It's easier to be objective about it there. It's a little more personal when people are sending cursed items to your house."

Harry nodded. He supposed that made sense.

"I'm fine, though," James assured him quickly. "These things blow over quickly."

Harry nodded once more, wishing he didn't feel like it was all his fault.

"So, what's happening with you?"

"We're having a Yule Ball."

"I heard about that. You're going to have a wonderful time."

Harry's smiled faded when he realized for the first time that the Yule Ball meant he wouldn't be at home for Christmas.

"Don't worry about that," James said quickly when Harry voiced the concern. "I can easily send your gifts to Hogwarts."

"But I've always come home for Christmas," Harry said, the slightest whinge in his voice. "I'll miss spending it with you and Sirius and Remus."

"Well, maybe the three of us can spend a day in Hogsmeade sometime soon. The Christmas fair is only a few weeks away. Maybe we can go to that."

"Yeah," Harry agreed glumly.

"And you're going to have a grand time at the Yule Ball. I won't hear of anything less."

"I don't know how to dance," Harry reported forlornly.

"Maybe you should ask Sirius to teach you. He's a very good dancer."

Harry smiled a little at that. Sometimes it seemed that Sirius was very good at everything. "Is there anything he can't do?"

James thought about that for a moment before announcing, "He can't whistle."

Harry gave a little laugh, then launched into his discovery about the egg.

"I suppose it's time for you to learn a bubble head charm. They're not terribly difficult. The Marauders figured it out on our own when we were about your age. We used to enjoy exploring the lake."

"And yet, if I did anything like that, you'd probably go through the roof," Harry teased.

"Did anything like what?" James asked innocently. "My friends and I behaved perfectly."

"Perfectly awful," Harry heard Remus say in the background.

"You're not helping," James told him, looking away for a moment. When he looked back his eyes were twinkling.

"Oh!" Harry suddenly remembered. "Would you be interested in giving your son animagus lessons? Maybe my form will be a fish and I won't have to bother with bubble head charms."

James sobered very quickly, pursing his lips as he thought. Harry waited on pins and needles for his response.

"I don't see any reason why we can't do that," he finally agreed. "I'll send you a few books to be looking at, and we can start during the Easter holiday."

"Wicked!" Harry said breathlessly. "Sirius thinks I'll be a stag. Like you."

"Maybe. We'll have to wait and see, I suppose, won't we?"

Harry excitedly agreed, hardly hearing all the safety caveats James began tacking onto the end of his promise. If he knew his dad, the safety warnings would be repeated twenty times anyway, and honestly, if the Marauders could learn to be animagi on their own as O.W.L. level students, surely Harry could handle it with two so very capable teachers.


	21. The Boldness of Boggarts

_The man stood nervously in the center of the dust-filled room as the pale light from the waxing moon streamed through the windows. "I have news, my Lord. An owl arrived just now. From Hogwarts. Aurors are coming here. We have to find another hideaway."_

_"How many aurors?"_

_"He wasn't sure. At least four. I can't take on four aurors alone, my Lord, and you are in no state to duel."_

_The attack came without warning, and the man writhed on the floor._

_"Do not tell me what I can and cannot do," a high voice proclaimed. "We will move to your house."_

_"But, my liege, my father still lives there."_

_"Then you will kill him. I once had the privilege of killing my father to further the cause. Unless you care about him more than me?"_

_"No, no my Lord. I am your most faithful servant. I have always been faithful."_

_"Stop scraping and stand up!" the high voice ordered. No sooner had the man stood, breathing a sigh of relief that his chastisement for his momentary lapse in judgment was so light, than he was hit with the curse again. Pain licked like fire at every fiber of his being. He could think of nothing else. He was going to die here, screaming in agony on this dirty floor._

Harry awoke screaming. His head was splitting along his scar. He couldn't breathe, so filled was he with terror.

"Harry, what's wrong? What happened?" It was Ron's voice, still groggy with sleep.

Now that he found himself safe in his bed, he tried to calm his breathing, but the adrenaline pumping through his body did not cease. "It was just a dream." He said it as much for himself as for Ron. He ran his fingers through his hair. His entire body was coated in slimy sweat. He threw the covers off and stood on shaky legs.

"Harry?" Ron questioned.

"Go back to sleep. I'm fine." He stumbled to the loo, hoping cold water would soothe his still-burning scar. He decided to make himself a cold compress. That's what his father had done the last time he had a nightmare. He tried to remember the dream, but found it already fading. It was the same man from his last nightmare, bowing before a seemingly empty chair, talking to a disembodied voice that sent chills down Harry's spine. Voldemort. Harry was sure of it. They had said something about aurors, and killing the man's father.

Harry splashed water on his face, trying to decide if he should wake his own father. He finally decided not to. It seemed silly to go running off to his dad because of a bad dream. He'd tell James about it tomorrow. He lay back in his bed, but quickly determined that sleep would not be visiting him again for some time. He looked at the bedside clock. It was half past midnight. Harry sighed and rose to rummage in his trunk for the invisibility cloak.

"Harry, are you really all right?" Neville asked in a whisper.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just can't sleep. I'm going to go see Sirius."

"Do you need company?"

"No, you should sleep. I've got the invisibility cloak back. I'll be fine." Harry wanted a little time to himself tonight. He was hoping the walk to the astronomy tower would clear his head a bit, and that Sirius would be able to help him sort out his dream or, failing that, make him laugh.

He met only one person on his trip to Sirius' quarters - Moody, clomping significantly more quietly than usual on his way out of the owlery.

"Hello, Potter," he said.

Harry was caught off guard for only a moment. He should have realized Moody could see through invisibility cloaks. "Hello," Harry said nervously.

"And where are you wandering, this fine evening?"

"I was on my way to Sirius'. I couldn't sleep." Explaining it to someone else made Harry feel terribly selfish for waking Sirius in the middle of the night, though he was sure Sirius wouldn't mind. He never did. James always said Sirius didn't really need that much sleep anyway. That was how he found time to do all the things he did.

"I see. And do you always wander the corridors at night?"

"Would you care if I did?" Harry asked warily.

Moody laughed. If anything, it made his face look even more frightening. "No, I wouldn't expect anything less. Your dad's told me a few of the stories from his time in Hogwarts. He got into so much trouble it makes a body wonder how he ever managed to find time to sleep or get all those N.E.W.T.S. he did."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. Moody's eye whizzed around in its socket; Harry grew dizzy just watching it.

"Well," he finally said. "I should be going."

"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked by way of a parting line. Harry turned away, wondering if Moody would see if he rolled his eyes. With Harry's luck, he almost certainly would. By the time he found himself a safe distance away, the urge had mostly passed, but he did it anyway, just to make himself feel better.

"I saw that!" Moody barked down the hallway.

"Of course you did," Harry muttered.

Sirius opened the door almost immediately after Harry's knock. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I had a dream, and when I woke up my scar was hurting. Like last summer."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Come in. Are you hungry?"

Harry shook his head. He had never been much for midnight snacks. Unlike his dad, who would occasionally decide to cook an entire meal when he was in the grips of insomnia. Sirius was even worse.

"Here, sit down." Sirius moved a stack of papers off a chair for Harry, and Harry sat. He looked around the quarters; he still hadn't managed to get used to the clutter that Sirius had acquired of late. He was usually a bit of a minimalist. Harry studied a nearby stack of books. He never knew so many things had been written about comets.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks."

Sirius brought him a glass of water anyway and sat across from Harry, his eyes boring into his godson. "Tell me about this dream."

Harry told everything he could remember. Sirius' frown deepened as he listened. "Have you called your dad?"

"No, I didn't want to bother him."

"Harry, how many times are we going to have to tell you that these things aren't a bother? Your dad will want to know about this." Sirius pulled a familiar mirror out of his robes and handed it to Harry. "Call him."

"But it's really not that big a thing. It was just a bad dream," Harry explained.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, unmoved. "Do it now, please."

Harry huffed but obeyed. Minutes later, James was there, hovering. Harry hated it when he hovered.

Harry told the story again, though he found the details getting fuzzier the more time went by.

Over his head, James and Sirius seemed to be having a conversation without words. Harry hated it when they did that. Sirius' eyes widened. James nodded. Sirius shrugged. James shook his head. Sirius curled his lip.

"You think so?" James asked.

"Would you mind including me in your discussion?" Harry demanded.

"Sorry, Champ," James muttered. "Sirius and I think we should tell Dumbledore about this."

"It was only a dream!" Harry protested.

"We think it might be more than that. We think you might be dreaming about things that are actually happening."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because we think the aurors they were talking about are my team. We were planning to investigate one of Voldemort's potential hideouts on Saturday."

"You were going to go chasing after Voldemort?" Harry asked. "But that's dangerous!"

"Harry, I'm an auror."

"But you could have been killed!"

"I wouldn't have been killed."

"But you could have been, and then what would I have done? Huh?"

"And now you know how your father feels every time you run chasing after a basilisk," Sirius interrupted calmly.

Harry stopped short, his retort for his father still on his tongue. He closed his mouth quickly. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled, heading for the door.

"Harry, wait," James said, grabbing Harry's wrist.

Harry spun around to glare at him. "You two are ganging up on me!"

"We're not trying to," Sirius explained.

"But you always do that. You always side with one another."

"No, we don't. There have been plenty of times I've sided with you over James."

"Name one!"

"Shut up and sit down, Harry," Sirius snapped.

Harry crossed his arms angrily over his chest. "I'd rather stand."

"Fine, then stand," Sirius replied with a shrug. He and James both sat.

"Did you say the man mentioned the owl arriving from Hogwarts?" James asked.

Harry nodded. James and Sirius shared a significant look.

"Do you reckon Voldemort has a spy at Hogwarts?" James asked.

"I can't see how. Everyone who is here is here only because Dumbledore believes he can trust us."

"Do you think he'd agree to let the auror department question his staff?"

"Probably, but good luck with McGonagall. And Moody."

"And Snape," Harry added. James and Sirius both turned to look at him. "What?" he asked innocently. "You were the ones who started naming names."

James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at Harry. "Was there anything else? Anything at all?"

Harry pulled out a chair and sat. "No. I told you everything I remember."

James and Sirius discussed possibilities so late into the night that Harry fell asleep on Sirius' sofa. He awoke to a tickle on his face and opened his eyes to find Sirius smiling and tickling his nose. Sirius had always awakened him that way, ever since he could remember.

"Good morning, sunshine" Sirius said softly.

"Morning," Harry said, yawning and stretching. "Is it morning already?"

"It is."

"Where's my dad?"

"He left. We tried to wake you so he could say goodbye, but you were out cold."

Harry nodded. "What did you two decide last night?"

"That your dream was probably more than a dream, that Dumbledore should certainly know, that Scrimgeour should probably know as well, that Scrimgeour should decide whether or not to tell Fudge, but that Fudge has his head so far up his arse he probably wouldn't believe it even if we told him, and that we should still go check out the Riddle Place just to be sure. We're going to take pictures so you can tell us if that was the place you saw in your dream."

"You're going to the Riddle Place, too?"

"Oh, yes. I can't let James have all the fun. You should probably go get ready for breakfast."

"Right," Harry agreed around a particularly large yawn. "But I would still like it known that I think you two are blowing this whole thing out of proportion."

"Duly noted."

"And duly discarded?" Harry teased.

"Discarded might be a little strong, but more or less."

Harry shook his head in mock annoyance. He had long since learned there was no use in arguing with Sirius. Sirius always won.

* * *

"Why does it have to be so bloody dark?" James whispered. He was mostly sure that no one was going to be in this old house, but we wished there were a little bit of light all the same.

"Shut up!" Remus hissed. "Aren't you the one that's supposed to be all stealth-like and-"

Tonks knocked over an old vase. It crashed loudly on the floor.

"Well, if there is anyone in here, they know we're here now," Sirius whispered.

Tonks cringed. "Sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Dora. I've knocked over a few vases in my day," Sirius assured her. He would have patted her on the shoulder if he had been able to see her.

"Would all of you kindly shut up! You're making enough noise to wake the dead!" Moody growled.

James rolled his eyes. No one could growl quite like Moody. It had stopped bothering him long ago. Indeed, he had very nearly decided that Moody's growls were a sign of approval.

"Did the entire auror office go batty after I left?" Moody continued.

"Yes," James replied. "We simply can't function without you, Mad-Eye."

"Call me Mad-Eye again and it'll be the last thing you ever do. If I ever find out who gave me that ridiculous nickname, I'll kill him."

James clamped his mouth shut, glad that Moody couldn't see through disillusionment charms, or he was sure his face would be giving him away.

"There's no one here. I can't see anyone."

"Good, then I can stop feeling guilty," Tonks said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"We should still be careful," Kingsley Shacklebolt added. "We never know what we might find here."

In the end, they crept all over the dilapidated house. James swore to himself that if he ever had another mission of this nature, he would only bring Kingsley and Remus. Tonks smashed something in nearly every room, and found every creaky floorboard. A few times, she even accused Sirius of casting spells to make the floorboards creak beneath her feet. He denied it in the far-too-innocent way he had that James had learned meant he was guilty as sin, and Moody growled at everyone several times before they came to an upstairs room that had clearly been only very recently vacated. It appeared that a fire had been in the fireplace some time in the last few days, and a very strange track joined the footprints in the dust. Almost as one, they removed their disillusionment charms. It was much easier to converse when everyone could see everyone else, they had learned.

"That would be from the snake," James said, pointing at the strange track and trying not to imagine how very large a snake would have to be to leave a track like that. James shuddered. He had always hated snakes, though he wasn't sure why. He'd never had any sort of traumatic experience with one that he could think of, but he hated them all the same. Tonks walked around the room, studying the pictures on the walls. This was clearly a muggle residence. She tripped over a loose floorboard and fell. Almost as if by instinct, Remus reached out to catch her.

"All right?" he asked. He smiled. She smiled.

"I've always been clumsly," she explained, blushing.

"Me, too," Remus said. James and Sirius looked at one another, stifling their smiles. Remus had never been clumsy.

"Well, we've certainly found something," Kingsley said, snapping pictures of the room from all angles. He turned to James. "I'll have copies of these for you tomorrow."

"Thank you. Should we check the shed and the guest cottage?"

"Probably," Moody said. "I'll come with you."

"So will I," Sirius decreed.

"No, you stay here. It's not very big. Remus, why don't you come?"

"Oi!" Sirius protested.

"What? You set spells under Tonks so she'd make more noise!"

"I knew it!" Tonks cried, narrowing her eyes at her cousin.

"I did no such thing."

"Please, Sirius, I don't have time for this just now. This is important."

"But I didn't set spells beneath Dora. I wouldn't do that. Not when Harry's safety is on the line."

James looked at Sirius' face and decided he was telling the truth. Sirius had been deadly when they were in the Order together. Sirius was the only person James ever knew who could move completely silently while crawling on his belly through underbrush. But then there were times that he got nervous and cracked jokes and James was quite sure he was going to get them both killed.

"But at least we'll die laughing," Sirius would say. When the stakes were high, though, Sirius was just the man you wanted by your side. Certainly not the sort of person who would make extra noise on purpose.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just a little jumpy today, I suppose."

"Perfectly understandable," Sirius replied.

James took a deep breath, wishing the nervous feeling would get out of his stomach. It seemed to be perpetually lodged there these days.

"Anyone else want to insist on coming?" He had meant the comment to sound light-hearted, but it came out sounding as tense as he felt. He should have known better than to attempt a joke when he felt this worried.

Tonks and Kingsley shook their heads. Moody, Sirius, Remus, and James set off down the stairs.

Moody moved surprisingly quietly for a man with a wooden leg. He'd had the thing since James had known him, and he'd always found it odd. He clomped so loudly around the ministry that a person could hear him coming a full ten minutes before he arrived, but when he was in the field, he moved like a cat. James had asked him how he did it once, and he said he stuck felt to the bottom of his leg. James was mostly sure he was joking, but he could never be certain. Moody had very little in the way of a sense of humor, though when he did make jokes, they were usually good ones. He heard Tonks ask once, and Moody replied that he set a silencing charm on the leg. James found that to be more plausible.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky. Before they stepped outside, they recast the disillusionment charms on themselves just in case someone did happen to be in the shed or the little cottage. They decided to check the cottage first, sure that it was the most likely place for anyone to hide. As they passed by, Moody did a sweep of the shed just to be sure no one was inside and declared it empty. James wasn't surprised. He did not expect to find Voldemort cowering in a shed. He was never the sort of person to cower anywhere. Apparently he even hid in opulence, intruding on the hospitality of his murdered family.

James opened the door only as far as it needed to go, and he and his friends slipped inside. In here, the sunlight streamed through the filthy windows, highlighting the dust particles floating peacefully through the air. Just looking at the place made James want to sneeze. They had entered through a small kitchen. A stained teapot was on the stove, and a half-drunk and very moldy cup of tea still sat at the tiny table for two. With the exception of the double-seater table, all signs pointed to a single occupant. One cup of tea. One plate in the drying rack. One set of silverware. One cup. One well-seasoned cast iron skillet on the stove.

Something moved in the next room. James sent a silent stunner at it. A rat fell to the floor. James wished it had been anything but a rat. He really didn't want to be reminded of Peter lying comatose in Azkaban. He didn't want to be reminded of any of the dark monsters in his son's life. Not today, when they were quite possibly lurking just around the corner.

The rest of the cottage was much the same - very dusty and very empty. It gave James a lonesome sort of feeling, thinking of someone living in this tiny space all alone. He really wished Bronwyn hadn't moved to Austria. Maybe he should take Sirius up on his offer to set James up with a pretty blonde. He quickly decided against it. James had always been an all-or-nothing sort of person. If he was going to date someone, it would be someone he thought he could marry. Before Lily, all his relationships had been painfully short. After a few weeks, he would decide that Gretchen or Lesley or Anna or Lisa wasn't for him and move on. Lily was the first person he ever dated for more than a few months.

"There's no one here," James whispered. He wasn't sure why he was whispering if no one was here, but this seemed to him like the sort of place a chap ought to whisper. He suddenly felt stifled, like he was standing in a tomb. A nearby cabinet began to rattle. James jumped.

"It's only a boggart," Moody reported.

"I've always wondered. When you see boggarts that way, do they sense you're looking at them and turn into something scary, or do you get to see what they really look like?"

"I see what they really look like," Moody said.

"What do they really look like?" Sirius asked, his eyes excited.

"Gray and shadowy. Sort of like I always though death ought to look, really. I find them far scarier like that than when they come out."

"I'll take care of it," James said, taking a deep breath and trying to imagine a snake tying itself into knots.

But what came out of the cupboard wasn't a snake.

When James opened the door, Harry fell out. He landed hard on his back, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. Lily's eyes in James' face. A face far too pale, far too bluish gray. James closed his eyes as a cry of grief grew inside of him. He had seen those dead eyes before, the night Lily...

"Harry!" The cry strangled its way out of his throat before he could stop it. He tried to tell himself to be rational, that it was only a boggart, that it wasn't really Harry lying dead in front of him, that it was all an illusion, but somehow his heart couldn't catch up to his brain. He stared at his dead child. He didn't even realize it the moment he began to sob.

"James, it's okay. It's just a boggart." Sirius stepped in front of James and the boggart changed. Now it was James, standing in front of Sirius, his face contorted in fury. "Riddikulus!" Sirius called. The boggart disappeared. Sirius turned back to James, his face a mask. "Are you all right?"

Now that it was gone, and he found he could breathe again, James was overwhelmed with embarrassment. He knew better than to let a boggart bother him, but it had seemed so real. James took a deep breath and pulled Harry's mirror out of his pocket. His eyes filled with tears of joy when Harry answered, his face clouded with concern.

"What's the matter? Where are you?" Harry asked. "Did something go wrong at the Riddle Place? Are Sirius and Remus okay?

"Everything's fine. I'll tell you about it later. I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

Remus put a gentle hand on James' shoulder. "Come on. You'll feel better in the daylight."

They lifted the disillusionment charms as they stepped outside. James relished the feel of the crisp autumn air on his cheeks. He felt himself flushing over his display in the cottage. It seemed awfully silly now.

"It wasn't silly at all," Sirius said softly, answering James' concern before he ever spoke it. "Anyone would have been upset, being caught off guard like that. You were expecting it to be a snake, and instead you see your child."

James nodded. "What happened to yours? It's always been a troll before."

"I suppose losing your friendship frightens me more than being locked up with trolls," Sirius said with a grim smile. "I know you still haven't completely forgiven me."

It wasn't often that James saw Sirius' courage waver. He wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing, marveling at how Sirius could know him so well. The adrenaline pumping through his body made him feel slightly dizzy.

He looked at his friend. His partner in crime. His comrade in arms. His brother. "You will never lose my friendship. For better or worse, you're stuck with me, so just go right back to being afraid of trolls."

Sirius laughed. It occurred to James very suddenly that it was the first time he'd heard Sirius laugh in quite some time.

* * *

Thanks to Obsidian Embrace for helping me decide when I'm feeling indecisive.


	22. Daring to Dance

"So your mother was going mental, yelling at him right there in the common room where anyone could hear. She had an audience before long. James was untouchable. No one was ever allowed to shout at him. Except for McGonagall. And I managed to get away with it once or twice, but it usually wasn't worth it. He had a tendency to lose his temper and accidentally blow things up. Anyway, she was shouting at him, and he kept making jokes, trying to get her to laugh. And she was getting angrier and angrier. I started to worry that this vein in her temple was going to come to life and kill us all. Finally she got so angry she started stomping her foot to emphasize every word.

"I think she may have grown fangs by the end of it. First years were leaping to their deaths from the windows just to get away from her. Eventually she dissolved into this sort of stuttering red-faced creature that no one really recognized, but that we all knew we'd be having nightmares about for the rest of our lives and she managed to get out, 'Why are you always so awful?' And your dad says, 'I'm not awful, and besides, I'm allowed on account of I'm so adorable and all.'"

"What did my mum do then?" Harry asked.

"She laughed," James said. "And then I asked her out for about the five thousandth time, and she agreed."

"You owe a lot to your dad's wit, Harry," Sirius added. "If he weren't such a quick thinker, you might never have been born."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, but he had to admit that Sirius had managed to accomplish his goal of cheering him up. He had some sort of a block on bubblehead charms. No matter how many times he tried, and no matter how much patient advice James, Sirius, and Remus gave him, he just couldn't make it work. He could only produce a thin approximation of the charm that would burst when Sirius poked it - no closer to a true bubblehead charm than all his glittery vapor had been a true patronus.

It was Remus who reminded him of how hard he had worked to create the patronus, telling him not to let himself get discouraged. Bubblehead charms, after all, were fifth year material. Not as complicated as patronuses, but still not simple magic by any means.

Still, Harry had trouble not feeling frustrated: possibly because he had already done so much that he felt childish being bested by a spell - any spell - and possibly because after such a stunning victory in the last task, he had begun truly imaging himself winning and was now beginning to see that image slipping away, replaced by a vision of himself walking down to the lake in February and having to announce that he was a dud and a phony who could do little more than jump into the water and flail in hopes of accidentally kicking a mermaid in the head in the process. He felt his face grow hot at the thought.

"Harry, there's still plenty of time. You have nothing to worry about. This is a complicated spell," James had said soothingly as Harry seethed with frustration after his last failed attempt.

"Isn't there something else I could try?" Harry asked, throwing himself into a chair.

"Not that will work as well as this. Not that I can think of, anyway," Sirius replied.

"And you still have two months to work on it," Remus reminded him. "That's plenty of time. Don't worry."

"What if I can't get it right?" Harry asked, his voice dangerously close to a whinge.

"You will," Sirius assured him.

"But what if I can't?"

"Then we'll think of something else," James told him. "But let's not make trouble where none exists. This will work." Harry hated the nervous look on his dad's face. On all their faces, really. The Marauders were nervous, he knew, but in the last few weeks of working with them, he realized just how much they'd been hiding it from him. It was slipping out in small ways. They bickered more than usual, talking about Harry as though he weren't standing there listening as they tried to make plans for him. Harry very rarely saw the Marauders argue, but now they were snappish and short, especially Sirius. By virtue of his constant presence at Hogwarts, he was taking the lead in working with Harry and seemed to have completely stopped all progress on his book in favor of helping Harry learn this blasted charm.

"I think I've had enough for today," Harry said softly.

"Would you like to get Ginny up here and work on your dancing?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. He and Ginny had become quite good at dancing over the last few weeks. Sirius and James had dedicated hours to ensuring that. The two of them had spent so much time dancing with one another to demonstrate all the steps that Sirius had begun to joke about asking James to be his date to the ball. James appeared to think about it each time before politely declining on grounds that he already had a date for Christmas. He would be spending it in France with Remus and his family. Harry wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he didn't at all like the idea of his father spending Christmas alone, but on the other hand, he didn't much like the idea of him being so very far away, either. Harry would have liked to have had the option to go home for a few hours if he wished.

"Maybe tomorrow. I have a lot of homework to do."

"Harry, the more you worry, the worse your block is going to be. Try not to let it get to you," James said sympathetically.

"I am trying," Harry explained, eager for the Marauders to know how hard he had been working, too. And he had. He stayed up late practicing the charm alone in the common room after everyone but he, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had gone to bed. He worked on it between classes and even during classes when he dared. He had even asked Professor Flitwick to help, which he had, though it hadn't done much good.

"I know you're trying," James said quickly, not wanting Harry to feel any more discouraged than he already did. "And you're doing brilliantly. I know you don't think so. But you really are. No one gets this on the first try."

"What about on the fifteen-hundredth try?" Harry grumbled.

That was when Sirius sailed in to the comedic rescue. "Harry, has anyone ever told you the story of how your mother finally agreed with go out with your dad?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, she was going out with this horrid boy called Jesse Wallace. One of those people whose face you just sort of inherently want to slap. The Germans have a word for that."

"The Germans have a word for everything," Remus interrupted to say.

Sirius continued without missing a beat. "Your mum had really awful taste in boyfriends. It's no wonder she ended up with your dad, really. She and Jesse had been going out for about six months and they had this really terrible breakup after she walked in on him shagging her best mate, and she was all broken up. A complete mess. Well, your dad decided someone needed to teach him a lesson. And I was always up for anything that would bring shame upon my family, so we devised a plot."

"They were always happiest when they were devising a plot," Remus said, almost ruefully.

"It's true, we were," James agreed.

Harry couldn't help laughing as he listened to the story of what they had done to the hapless boy who made the mistake of getting on the wrong side of Lily Evans.

"I still think she was secretly grateful that I cared enough to humiliate the boy who had humiliated her," James commented when Sirius had finished the story.

"Nothing says I love you like chicken feathers," Harry noted.

"Don't forget about the sticking charm," James added. "The poor boy had to go around like that for nearly two weeks."

"Served him right, treating Lily like that," Sirius said with a shrug. Harry thought of how angry he would feel if someone were to treat Ginny that way and found himself inclined to agree.

"So, what's the word?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What word?" Sirius replied.

"The German word. For the person whose face you wants to slap."

"Know someone like that, so you?" Sirius asked with a wry smile.

"Perhaps," Harry responded, his smile just as wry.

"Backpfeifengesicht."

"Gesundheit," James replied.

"How do you know that?" Remus asked, incredulous.

Sirius leaned his chair back on two legs and put his hands casually behind his head. "I know everything, mate. You really ought to have realized that by now."

"On that note, I really should go," Harry said, hauling himself out of the chair. "I wasn't lying about all that homework."

"Okay," James said. "But don't worry too much. There's still plenty of time."

Harry nodded. "I know. Thanks. See you later."

Harry made his way back up to the common room, so lost in his own thoughts that he hardly realized when he arrived at the portrait hole. He entered, trying not to think about all the homework hanging over his head and was met by familiar voices shouting at one another.

"I'm not lying, Ron! It's not my fault if you took too long!" Hermione shouted.

"Who are you going with then?" Ron shouted back.

"What's going on?" Harry whispered to Ginny, slipping onto the sofa beside her.

"Ron asked Hermione to the dance, and she turned him down because she's already going with someone," Ginny explained in an undertone.

"Who's she going with?"

"I've no idea. And she won't say. He thinks she's making it up to avoid going with him. He's really just upset because he made an idiot of himself asking Fleur Delacour." Harry turned his attentions back to the argument, which seemed to have deteriorated.

"Just because it's taken you three years to notice I'm a girl doesn't mean no one else has!" Hermione shouted.

"Sure, like anyone besides me would even want to go with you!"

Hurt etched itself across Hermione's face as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Well, then maybe you should ask me first next time, instead of as a last resort!" Hermione whipped her hair around so violently that for a moment Harry thought it had developed a mind of its own. Next moment, it lay still again as she stomped up the stairs to her dormitory. Ron stood stock still in the middle of the common room for a moment before looking around nervously. He spotted Ginny and Harry and made a beeline for them.

"She's gone completely barmy," Ron accused. "As if I would care who she's going to the dance with."

"Yes, it certainly looked like you didn't care when you were shouting at her," Ginny commented acidly. Ron scowled at her, but Harry couldn't help thinking she'd hit the nail on the head. He decided to keep that opinion to himself. He wasn't particularly eager to row with Ron again. He doubted Dumbledore would be so understanding about a second food fight.

Ron's frown softened suddenly. "What am I going to do? I can't go to the ball alone! Hermione was my safety net!"

"How about asking a third year?" Ginny suggested. "That's what Neville did. We can't go otherwise."

"Neville got a date?" Ron exclaimed. "Who's he going with."

"A Ravenclaw girl - Luna Lovegood."

Ron's face fell again. "I don't know many third years."

"I do. I'm the one who introduced Neville and Luna."

Ron smiled at Ginny. "Can you introduce me to someone?"

"Sure. I know a few people who might go with you."

"What about Lavender or Parvati?" Harry asked suddenly. The two girls had just come through the portrait hole.

Ron looked up and turned bright red. "I can't ask them. What if they say no?"

Harry fought the urge to smile.

"It's not that hard, little brother," Fred said from his perch nearby. Fred and George had been so busy whispering to one another that Harry didn't even know they were listening. "You just ask her. Watch this." He raised his voice to holler across the common room. "OI! ANGELINA!"

Angelina was on the far side of the room sitting in a group of girls. "What?" she called.

"Will you go to the ball with me?"

Angelina smiled a little. "All right."

Fred turned back to Ron. "You see. Piece of cake."

Ron mumbled something Harry couldn't quite make out, but seeing Fred ask Angelina with so much gusto seemed to have done something to his confidence. "Harry, will you ask one of them for me?"

Harry fought the urge to smile some more. "Tell you what. I'll go with you. Call it moral support. But you have to ask her yourself."

"That's easy for you to say," Ron grumbled. "You have a date. You probably didn't even have to ask her."

"Of course I asked her."

"But you knew she'd say yes."

"Well, yes, but I still asked her all by myself."

Ron narrowed his eyes at both of them. "Never mind, then. I don't need your help."

"Who are you planning to ask?" Ginny queried.

"Lavender."

Ginny shook her head. "She already has a date. Parvati doesn't, though."

"How do you girls always know everything about one another?" Harry asked suddenly.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. We just talk to one another."

Ron nodded resolutely, oblivious to Harry and Ginny's conversation. "Right, it's decided then. I'll ask Parvati."

Ron walked over to Parvati and Lavender and had a very brief conversation. When he returned, his face was so red Harry started to wonder if all the blood in his body had somehow rushed itself to his cheeks. "I couldn't do it."

Harry sighed and stood. Ron stalked behind him as he crossed to where Parvati and Lavender still sat, watching Ron with bemused looks on their faces.

Ron stared at Parvati, an odd noise coming out of his mouth - somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Harry nudged him. "Pavatiwannagobawime?" Ron asked.

"What was that?" Parvati asked.

Ron took a deep breath. "Will you go to the ball with me?"

Parvati looked at Lavender and they both dissolved into giggles. Harry never could understand why girls always did that. When they had finished giggling, Parvati turned her attention back to Ron, who stood tensed as though ready to flee at a moment's notice.

"Yeah, okay, I'll go with you."

"Great." Harry barely heard the comment because Ron muttered it while exiting at top speed.

"I don't think we're really related," Ginny said as Harry returned to her side.

Harry nodded his understanding. "I've spent most of my life convinced that I'm not really related to Dudley."

The end of the term came quickly, despite Ron and Hermione's ongoing quarrel. Harry spent most of his time with Ginny. The two of them got so good at dancing that before they knew it they were giving impromptu lessons in the common room. Fred declared that the Gryffindors would be the best dancers at the ball.

On Christmas morning, Harry awoke to a pile of presents. There was a jumper from Mrs. Weasley and a bag of sweets from Ron. There were books from Hermione and a new snitch from Sirius. There was even a pair of socks from Dobby - a red one with broomsticks embroidered on it and a green one with glowing snitches.

Ginny and Harry went for a walk across the grounds after breakfast, settling near the same spot where they had shared their first kiss. It had become one of their favorite spots to go.

Ginny handed Harry a small box. "It isn't much," she said by way of explanation.

Harry opened it and smiled. "It's perfect," he told her, pulling the red and gold scarf out of the box.

"I made it myself. I got Hermione to teach me how to knit."

Harry laughed. "It's a good thing you're a little more talented at it than she is."

Ginny joined in his laughter until a sudden noise from the Durmstrang ship caught their attention. Viktor Krum had just stepped onto the deck of the ship wearing nothing but swim trunks. He walked to the edge and dove head-first into the lake.

"He's going to freeze to death," Ginny commented.

"Less competition for me," Harry said with a small smile.

She nudged at him with her elbow. "You're bad."

"No, I'm not. Everyone wishes bad things on their rivals. It's completely normal. Besides, I'm allowed on account of I'm so adorable and all."

Ginny threw her head back and laughed. Harry smiled contentedly. When she had finished laughing, he gave her his gift - a gold locket that he had already filled with pictures of the two of them.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, lifting it gingerly from the box.

"Let me put it on for you."

Ginny lifted her hair and leaned back into Harry as he clasped her new necklace. She fingered it lightly, a small smile playing at her lips. Harry couldn't help kissing her when she smiled like that.

"Happy Christmas," she said with a smile as her dark eyes shone with joy.

"Happy Christmas."

When they went inside for lunch, Krum still had not surfaced from the lake, but they had forgotten all about him.

Harry prepared for the ball quickly, throwing on his green dress robes and making a desperate attempt to tame his hair. He and Ron went to the common room to join the throng of boys waiting for their respective dates. Parvati came down first, looking lovely in her dress robes. Ron didn't seem to notice. He was too busy grumbling about his own robes and tugging at them uncomfortably.

"Hi," Parvati said.

"Hey," Ron mumbled. "You look pretty and stuff."

Parvati eyed Ron warily. "Thanks and stuff."

"Hey, who's Hermione going with? It's almost the dance. You can tell us now."

Parvati scowled. "I already told you I don't know. You act like you're more interested in her than in me." Parvati stomped off, leaving Ron standing in the middle of the common room looking very foolish.

Fred patted him sarcastically on the shoulder. "Way to go, little brother."

Ron groaned and went after Parvati, but not soon enough to miss Fred's loud exclamation as Angeline came downstairs.

"Yowza! You're far too pretty to go to the ball. It won't be fair. All the other girls will be jealous."

Fred continued to gush loudly, but Harry heard nothing after that, because Ginny had just appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair cascaded down her back in perfect curls. Her celadon dress robes were every bit as old as Ron's, but she had worked hard to make them over so that no one would ever be any the wiser. Her new necklace hung perfectly around her neck. Harry could hardly breathe. He had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.


	23. Yuletide Yearnings

"You want to know a secret?" Harry asked.

"Always," Ginny replied with a smile.

"You're the most beautiful girl at the ball."

Ginny blushed.

"It's true," Harry continued. "Look around. Everyone's staring at you."

"Everyone's staring at all of us. They have to. We're the only ones dancing."

Harry spun her. "That's not why they're looking at you. I'm telling you, you're the most beautiful girl here. Every girl at the whole ball is jealous of you, and every boy is jealous of me because I get to dance with you."

"You're full of it," she accused, laughing.

"No, I'm not. Don't look now, but Roger Davies just checked you out. So did Krum."

"You're lying. He hasn't taken his eyes off of Hermione since the second she walked down the stairs."

"He sneaking surreptitious glances at you," Harry said with a grin, dipping her. The crowd oohed.

"If anyone's looking at us it's because you're such a twinkle-toes."

"Dad says its in my genes. Did you know that my grandmother was used to win awards for ballroom dancing in her youth? Grace runs in my family."

Ginny smiled wide. "Lucky thing for me. Roger Davies is stepping all over Fleur's toes."

"She should have gone with Ron."

Ginny shook her head. "That would have been worse. He'd probably be falling all over himself."

Harry's extreme loyalty to Ron was the only thing that kept him from laughing; he knew it was probably true. Ron's brain certainly seemed to go on holiday every time Fleur came within a mile of him.

Harry had been dreading opening the ball, hating the thought of everyone staring at him. Now, however, he found himself disappointed when the song ended, because it meant he'd have to let go of Ginny. She looked away to wave at Hermione, and his heart flip-flopped in his chest. Then suddenly the next song began and they were swooping once again, and this time other couples were joining them. Before long, there were so many couples on the floor that they could barely move, yet somehow the way parted for Harry and Ginny. He began to feel a little self-conscious: everyone really was staring at them.

A small circle of people had begun to surround them to watch them dance. Not far away, another circle had formed around Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exuberantly that Harry was a little worried they might throw their arms out of the sockets.

"Would you like a drink?" Harry asked after the second dance.

"Sure." Ginny was smiling breathlessly. The Weird Sisters had just launched into a new song - their newest hit. "Oh, let's dance to this one," Ginny said breathlessly. "Then we'll get drinks."

Harry couldn't say no to her when she smiled like that. One more song turned into two, and two turned into five, until Harry and Ginny were launching themselves, out of breath and laughing, out the door to cool down in the crisp winter air.

The grounds looked like a fantasyland. Hagrid had created little bush-lined pathways that criss-crossed the grounds, leading all the way down to the lake. Live fairies sparkled in the bushes. In the combination of starlight, moonlight, and fairy light, Ginny positively glowed. The moonlight reflected off her hair, like a fiery halo. Every time he looked at her, Harry thought it wouldn't be possible for her to be more beautiful. Every time he looked at her, he decided she was more beautiful than she ever had been before.

"Want to walk down by the lake?" she asked.

Harry nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. This was the sort of moment when men in muggle cinema said something delightfully debonair, but Harry was sure that if he opened his mouth, nothing but a squeak would come out. His brain always seemed to wait for the most important moments to abandon him. Sometimes he thought it was a great cosmic plot.

Harry took a deep breath. "It smells like snow."

Ginny breathed in the night air. "It does, doesn't it? I always loved that smell."

The lake lapped gently against the shore, the water rippled by a slight breeze. The moonlight reflecting upon it wavered like something out of a dream. Harry couldn't imagine anything being more perfect, until Harry heard Snape's voice. An instant later, he heard Karakaroff's as well.

"It's getting darker. It has been for months. Look."

"I am aware that it's getting darker. I have one, too, as you are well aware. If you are frightened, flee. I will make your excuses, but I will not be leaving Hogwarts," Snape said. Whatever they were discussing, Harry could tell it was serious. Snape wasn't snarling nearly as much as usual. Or perhaps he merely saved all his snarling up for when Harry was nearby.

The two of them rounded the corner suddenly. "You," Snape snarled. Yes, Harry decided; he certainly saved the snarling for Harry. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Not purposely," Harry answered.

"Get out of here," Snape ordered.

"But we were here first," Harry protested.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the impression it was a request," Snape said silkily, dangerously. "I should have been more clear. You will leave now, or you will spend more of your time in detention than you care to think about."

Ginny squeezed Harry's hand. "We'll find somewhere else to sit," she whispered.

"Fine," Harry reluctantly agreed. He glared at Snape as they walked away. Snape glared back. There was a time when Snape's glares would send shivers down Harry's spine, but he was growing used to them by now. Immunity through familiarity, he decided.

Harry and Ginny chose a different path - one that would lead them toward the forest this time.

"What does Snape have against you anyway?" Ginny asked. "Ron says he's awful to you in class."

"I never did quite understand it," Harry said with a sigh. "He's always complaining about how awful my dad was to him when they were young, as if that's my fault."

"If your dad was awful to him, it was probably because he was asking for it," Ginny said.

Harry nodded, moving closer to her. "I always reckoned he must have been. It's not terribly difficult to imagine, after all."

Harry and Ginny stopped short when they heard Hagrid's voice waft toward them.

"Me dad died when I was young, so Hogwarts became my second home. It's a great place, Hogwarts."

"It is lovely," a deep female voice agreed.

"Is that Madame Maxime?" Ginny whispered.

Harry grinned. "Must be. They were on a date the night Hagrid and Sirius showed me the dragons."

"Aw, that's so sweet!" Ginny exclaimed in a whisper.

Harry never in a million years would have admitted it, but he was inclined to agree. If anyone deserved happiness, Hagrid did.

"Beauxbatons eez lovely as well," Maxime was saying. "We 'ave a large palace. Eet eez not as large as 'Ogwarts, but eet ees fairy beautiful."

"I'd like teh go there someday," Hagrid replied dreamily. "Can I ask yeh a question?"

"Oui."

"What side do yeh have it on?"

"'Ave what on?"

"I had it on me mum's side. I never knew her, really, just that her name was Fridwulfa. She left, see, when I was three. Said I was too small. Dad was heartbroken. She might still be alive fer all I know. I never really thought about it before. She wasn't a very good mother. Well, motherin's not really in their natures, is it?"

"In whose nature?" Maxime asked, a dangerous edge in her voice.

Harry closed his eyes, already knowing what was sure to happen.

"Giants, o' course."

"Giants!" Madame Maxime cried indignantly. "You zeenk I am part giant?"

Harry tried to silently will Hagrid to shut up, but he plunged forward obliviously.

"Well, sure," Hagrid explained. "How else could you be so big? All this time I thought I was the only one."

Maxime stood in outraged majesty, the crinoline on her robes crinkling with an air of authority. "'Ow dare you! I 'ave big bones!"

Harry and Ginny ducked behind a tree just in time to avoid being seen as she stormed off. Harry focused his attentions on a small beetle struggling up the bark.

Ginny pulled at Harry's sleeve, and he turned to see Snape stalking toward them. There was a sudden rustling in the bushes, and Snape answered it with a stinging hex. Two students stood, yelping.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Snape told them calmly. Ginny and Harry moved to the other side of the tree so as not to be seen.

"Let's go back inside," Ginny whispered after Snape had passed. Harry readily agreed.

Inside the Great Hall, they very nearly bowled Sirius over.

"What are you two up to?" he asked. "Been outside snogging?"

"No."

"Why not?" Sirius asked. "It's lovely out there, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"But what?"

"Snape was out there. He was shooting stinging hexes at couples."

Sirius' face lost its smirk. "He didn't shoot one at you, did he?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but he did give me more detentions than I care to think about. I don't think he meant it, though. He doesn't like hanging around me enough to give me more than a few detentions in one go. Besides, we weren't snogging. And we hid when he came too close."

"Smart lad," Sirius said approvingly.

"Actually, it was Ginny's idea."

Sirius turned to her. "I knew I liked you. You have to keep an eye on him, you know."

Ginny nodded emphatically. "I've noticed that."

Sirius let out a long, low whistle as Snape and Karkaroff stormed through the door. His expression hardened immediately. Ginny quickly excused herself to talk to Hermione.

"Hello, Severus, Igor." Sirius said with a curt nod. Snape's only response was an equally curt nod. Karkaroff didn't respond at all. Instead, he scurried into the Great Hall. Sirius followed his progress with his eyes.

"Makes me nervous, seeing the two of them together," Sirius muttered.

"Why?"

Sirius whipped his gaze back to Harry and took a deep breath. "It's a long story, and we're in the middle of a party."

Harry had never been the most patient of people, especially not when his curiosity was piqued. "Sirius, tell me."

"Fine. I suppose you're old enough to know this. Snape and Karkaroff were both Death Eaters."

Harry gasped. "Snape was a Death Eater?"

Sirius nodded absently, watching as Snape billowed into the Great Hall to join the festivities.

"Why is he allowed to teach here if he was a Death Eater?"

"Dumbledore vouched for him, just before the war ended. According to Dumbledore, he turned spy and began to help the Order. I was skeptical, though. Snape was always up to his eyeballs in the dark arts, even when he was young. That was part of why your dad hated him so much. He'd been fantasizing about being a Death Eater since he was twelve. He used to draw the dark mark on his notes."

Sirius curled his lip in disgust.

Harry's mind worked quickly to understand what he was hearing. Snape was a Death Eater? "But what about Dumbledore? He wouldn't trust just anyone, would he?"

"No, he wouldn't. There's the rub. But I'm still skeptical. Voldemort was supposedly the most skilled legilimens in history. Snape's good at it himself, but I don't think he was ever good enough to fool Voldemort."

"You mean Voldemort can read minds?"

"Legilimency is a little more complicated than that, but for your purposes, yes. Voldemort can read minds. But since we're on the subject, so can Dumbledore, and I doubt Snape would be able to fool him much easier than he could fool old Voldy."

"So, which side is Snape on?"

Sirius' voice was harsher than Harry was accustomed to hearing it. "Snape's the only who truly knows, the bastard. Which is why it makes me nervous to see him getting too chummy with Karkaroff. He was a known Death Eater, too. I dueled him once, during the war. Almost caught him, too, but he managed to slither away. Then he got himself out of Azkaban by turning on his own friends. Loads of cells in Azkaban were filled because he sang like a canary the moment a dementor came too close, and Crouch went for it, the moron."

"Crouch? The tournament judge?"

"Same chap. He was head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement back then. He made it his personal mission to set up every Death Eater with a suite in Azkaban. He was a bit ruthless about it, really. Seemed to get a charge out of it. He was popular, though. Some people even wanted to make him the Minister of Magic. It would have been a terrible idea, in my opinion. He was never interested in justice, only revenge. He tried to send me to Azkaban without a trial. I still shudder to think what would have happened if your dad hadn't come to my rescue. I'd probably still be in there, rotting away. "

Harry always hated it when Sirius talked like that. He could never bear the thought of his kindly godfather rotting away with the dementors. Sirius exhaled loudly.

"I shouldn't have told you all of this tonight. You're supposed to be having fun. You know, sometimes I forget you're just a kid."

"Oi! I'm fourteen!" Harry protested.

Sirius smiled and mussed his hair. "Exactly my point. Go on, get in there and dance with your girlfriend. You don't need to be worrying about Death Eaters. No one is going to hurt you right under Dumbledore's nose. Or Moody's. Or mine."

One thought still nagged at Harry's brain. "Why did Crouch change departments if he liked trying Death Eaters so much?"

"That was a sad story," Sirius replied. "His son was arrested, with two high profile Death Eaters. He claimed he was innocent, that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Crouch decided to make an example of him and sent him to Azkaban. They say he begged and cried in the courtroom. He didn't last long in Azkaban; he died after about a year. Crouch's wife died of grief only a few days later. After that, people started to wonder how a kid from such a good family had gone so bad, and they began to point the finger at Crouch. Said if he'd spent less time out chasing monsters and more time paying attention to his own kid, it never would have happened.

"So, Crouch lost the top job and was shuffled sideways into Magical Cooperation instead. He lost everything he cared about because he decided his own ambition was more important than the people he loved. That's what comes of blind ambition Harry. That's why it's so important to fight for the people you love. Because the people you love are precious, and if you don't fight for them, you'll end up losing them. Sometimes I wonder if Regulus would have joined the Order instead of the Death Eaters if I'd fought a little harder for him."

Sirius pulled Harry into a tight one-armed hug and planted a kiss on the top of his head. "Go have fun, Harry. You and Ginny looked great out there on the dance floor. Not as good as me, but who is?" Sirius gave Harry a lopsided smile and a small push toward the Great Hall.

Harry located Ginny and Hermione quickly, but was waylaid by Ron as he marched toward them.

"Did you see who Hermione's with?" Ron hissed.

"Yes. Krum."

"Don't say 'yes. Krum,' as though it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't. Look at her. I haven't seen her smile like that since McGonagall gave her permission to do extra homework."

Ron looked at Hermione, his face taking on a dreamy quality. She wore floaty periwinkle robes and had done something different with her hair. Instead of her usual mane, it was sleek and shiny, and she had twisted it up on top of her head. She wasn't nearly as beautiful as Ginny, but no one was.

"She does look happy, doesn't she?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. An instant later, Krum appeared at Hermione's side with a glass of punch. Ron's smile faded, and he stomped over to her.

"Hermione, may I speak to you a moment?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied casually.

"In private?"

"Erm, okay," she agreed. "Excuse me a moment, Viktor."

Ron and Hermione walked a short distance away. Harry and Ginny followed closely. Ron didn't object. Whatever he had to say to Hermione, it must not have been that private.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron demanded.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"You're here with Viktor Krum! You're calling him by his first name!"

"And?"

"And, he's Harry's rival in the tournament. He's probably only using you to get insider information on Harry so he can take him out. You're... you're..._ fraternizing with the enemy_!"

Harry and Ginny glanced at one another, both suppressing smiles.

"Harry, tell her!"

Harry suddenly began to understand how Sirius must have felt when he was pulled into his and his dad's quarrels. He only wished he could come up with the sort of witty responses Sirius always so effortlessly uttered. "Erm, I'm not fussed about it, really. I trust Hermione."

"And Viktor hasn't asked me one thing about Harry all night!" Hermione cried.

"Well _Viktor_ is probably just trying to gain your trust!" Ron retorted.

"No, he isn't. He's interested in me, Ron. And I like him. You should get that through your thick skull."

Hermione turned in a huff and returned to Krum's side. She didn't even glance back as they made their way onto the dance floor."

Ron charged up to her once more and tapped her on the shoulder. "Hermione, may I talk to you again?"

"No," Hermione answered with a toss of her head. "I'm busy." She didn't reply to the rest of his attempts to get her attention. He stalked dejectedly off the dance floor and sat sulking at a table.

"We should probably go try to cheer him up," Harry whispered. Ginny reluctantly agreed.

"Ron, don't you have a date?" Harry asked after he and Ginny sat down.

"She went to dance with someone else over an hour ago," Ron mumbled. "Apparently I was talking about Hermione too much."

Ginny patted Ron on the shoulder sympathetically. "Sorry your night turned out so badly."

Ron eyed Hermione and Viktor. He scowled. "Can you believe her?"

"Ron, she's having fun. Let her be," Ginny said. "She's your friend. You should trust her."

Harry nodded emphatically. "You know Hermione well enough to know that she wouldn't fall for a trick that obvious."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Ron conceded forlornly.

"Maybe you could find Parvati and convince her to come dance with you?"

"I don't think she will. I'm not a very good dancer," Ron admitted. "I stepped on her toes. Twice."

"Twice?" Ginny repeated.

"Yes, twice."

It was a long while before Ginny and Harry were able to extricate themselves from Ron's decidedly uncomfortable company. The evening was beginning to wind down. Hermione and Krum were still dancing up a storm. Sirius was dancing with McGonagall, who was surprisingly graceful. Dumbledore was dancing with Madame Maxime, the top of his pointy hat barely coming to her chin. "If Hagrid's half-giant, she definitely is," Harry whispered to Ginny.

"'Ow dare you!" Ginny cried. "I 'ave big bones!"

Harry laughed. "The only thing with bones bigger than her is a whale."

Malfoy passed through Harry's vision, dancing with Pansy Parkinson. The word "backpfeifengesicht" pranced suddenly across Harry's imagination. He muttered the word out loud.

"What was that?" Ginny asked.

Harry grinned. "Backpfeifengesicht. It's a German word. It means a person who needs to be slapped. I was just watching Malfoy. It applies to him, don't you think."

"Without a doubt."

"Hermione slapped him once. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I've never been so proud of her before."

"I wish Ron would hurry up and admit he fancies her already."

Harry nearly choked on his punch.

"What? Surely you realized that's why he's being such an idiot lately."

Harry shrugged. "Not really. How do you girls always know so much?"

It was Ginny's turn to shrug. "I don't know. We just pay attention, I guess."

"I pay attention!"

"You don't pay attention to things like who fancies whom."

"No, I suppose I don't pay attention to things like that."

"Come on, let's dance." Ginny took Harry's sleeve and rushed onto the dance floor.

They danced until the music stopped, and returned to Gryffindor common room to find Hermione and Ron shouting at one another. They turned and exited the portrait hole almost as quickly as they had come in, not wanting to get pulled into another argument. They took refuge in an empty classroom where they could snog in peace. When Harry returned to his dormitory, he found Ron sleeping. On the way to his own bed, he stepped on something that, upon closer inspection, looked suspiciously like a Hungarian seeker's snitch-catching arm.

Harry did not fall asleep for a long while; so many thoughts were flickering through his mind, and he didn't know what to make of any of them.


	24. Notable News

James always felt an inexplicable sadness the day after Christmas. He had ever since he was young. He usually whisked Harry off to do something impossibly fun, determined that Harry would have a thousand and one beautiful childhood memories. This was the first Christmas James hadn't been around to whisk Harry away, and so it was the first time Harry really understood James' post-Christmas melancholy.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with the long days that stretched before him. Now that the excitement of the ball was past, the rest of the holiday seemed long. Homework was always an option, but he wasn't particularly interested in that just yet. There was still plenty of time for homework.

He yawned and stretched, sitting up in his bed. He could see the sun shining through the cracks in his curtains, but his little cocoon was still dark and warm. When he first came to Hogwarts, he couldn't get used to the stuffy feeling of having his curtains closed. Now, when he went home, he almost missed them. His bed felt terribly open and exposed just sitting in his room, with nothing to shield it from doors and windows.

Harry rolled over to his nightstand and grabbed the familiar mirror. He had spoken with his dad the morning before, to say Merry Christmas and to thank him for his presents, but he hadn't had a chance to tell him about the ball yet.

"Morning, Champ," James said sleepily when Harry called.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, Dad."

"You didn't wake me," James claimed around a gigantic yawn.

"Liar," Harry accused. "Go back to sleep."

"Sorry, I'm awake now, Champ. Besides, I can sleep any time. I'd much rather talk to you. How was the ball?"

"It was great. Your dancing lessons paid off. I didn't step on Ginny's toes once."

"Sirius said you two were the best dancers there."

"You talked to Sirius already?" Harry asked.

"Last night. I was bored, and everyone here was sleeping. Remus' family goes to sleep ridiculously early. They also wake up ridiculously early."

As if to prove his point, a very loud, kitcheny sort of sound clanked in the background. Harry gave a small laugh. James had never had much patience with morning people. Many of Harry's Saturday mornings were spent being whinged at to leave James alone and just let him sleep.

"Are you having fun?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm having a blast. The French really know how to do Christmas. Or Noël, as they call it. I bought you something, by the way."

Harry perked up, a little embarrassed that he still got excited about presents like he was five. "What? What did you buy me?"

"You'll see when I get back, you cheeky monkey. Patience is a virtue, you know."

Harry sighed. Why did everyone always tell him to be patient? Why couldn't anyone ever just answer a straight question?

"Did Sirius tell you we talked?" Harry asked.

"He did. He tells me everything, you know," James replied with a wink.

Harry smiled. "No, he doesn't. He hardly ever tells you about the trouble I get into here."

"I don't want to hear about it," James said quickly, holding up a hand to silence his son. "I enjoy being able to plead ignorance."

Harry's smile widened. "What about all the trouble you got into?" he teased.

"What about it?" James asked innocently.

"You always got away with it."

"Not always," James corrected. "Only usually. Because I was smart."

"Because Sirius always bailed you out."

"Did Sirius tell you that? Because you really ought to know by now that you can't believe anything he says outside of the classroom."

"No, actually. Remus told me that. I suppose now you're going to tell me I can't believe anything Remus says, unless it's on a Tuesday?"

James smirked. "You'd be surprised. He saved our bums a fair few times when we were in school. If we could keep him from getting himself too worked up over the prospect of being in trouble, he was surprisingly quick on his feet."

Harry went suddenly serious. "Did you know Snape was a Death Eater?"

James' smirk faltered. "I did," he said with a small nod.

"And why didn't you tell me?" Harry demanded.

"Because you were eleven, and because you were already worrying your head about being in Slytherin. I didn't want to give you anything else to worry about. Besides, Dumbledore said he turned spy."

"Sirius says he doesn't believe that."

James shook his head sadly. "No, he never did believe it. He never trusted Snape. He eventually learned to get along with him, but he never learned to trust him. Some wounds go too deep, I guess."

"What about you? Did you trust him?"

"Him? No. I've never trusted him as far as I could throw him, but I did trust Dumbledore; and even more than that, I trusted your mother. She knew people, your mum. She could read them better than anyone else I've ever known. That's part of what made her so incredibly good; she could always find something to celebrate in every person, no matter how awful they seemed to the rest of us. She always insisted that Snape had a good heart, even after he turned Death Eater. She said she had seen it in him when they were young, and that it was buried, but that it was still there, and that when he realized what working for Voldemort really meant, he wouldn't be able to do it anymore."

"So, do you think he's really on our side?"

"Dumbledore is not easy to fool."

"You didn't answer the question," Harry pointed out gently.

James gave a small, sad smile. Dodging subjects he didn't want to discuss with Harry used to work so well.

"I'm not sure I can answer the question entirely. Hoodwinking Dumbledore really would be quite the trick, but he's never seen fit to let me in on why he trusts Snape so fully. As far as I'm aware, he's never seen fit to let anyone in on it, actually. But that's Dumbledore for you. If the worst were to come to the worst, I suppose I don't know what I think Snape would do. But I don't believe he would hurt a student, especially not with Dumbledore right there watching, so I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "So, are there any other former Death Eaters roaming around that I should know about?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I don't think you have much to worry about with Karkaroff, either. He has just as much to lose as anyone by Voldemort returning to power. He probably wouldn't last long; not after what he did. Voldemort never did have much tolerance for dissension in the ranks."

"Do you have any other big secrets that you care to let me in on?"

James scratched his chin as if in thought. "My fifth year, I tried to slip your mother a love potion, but she figured it out and gave it to Sirius. She was a smart woman, your mother. That's where you get it from. After he took it, he fell head-over-heels in love with me. It was very, erm, awkward, especially since he took it right before we headed out to spend the night with Moony. It didn't hit him until just after he had transformed. We ended up having to cancel the mission because he wouldn't stop humping my leg. Pomfrey sorted him out quickly, so we got to go out eventually, but it put a damper on the whole evening. He claims not to be able to remember it, but I think he's lying."

"He always claims he can't remember the things that are embarrassing."

"But ask him about some prank we pulled, and he can tell you about it down to the last detail, including what everyone was wearing and what color we turned Snape's hair."

Harry let out a small laugh. "What color did you turn it?"

"By the time we graduated? Every color under the sun and a few that I'm not sure had been invented yet. Isn't it breakfast time there?"

Harry looked at his clock. "Yes, but I'm not hungry." Harry had never been much of a breakfast person, particularly not when he had so very much on his mind.

"You should go eat. You need to keep your strength up. It takes a lot of energy to be the best dancer at the ball." James desperately wanted to ask if he'd made any progress on the bubblehead charm, but he knew his son well enough to know that if he had, he'd have already said something. Harry wasn't a braggart by any means, but he had always shared his victories - even the small ones - with James. James really was lucky to have a son who was also a friend. He wasn't sure what he had ever done to deserve it, but he wasn't going to question it.

"I wasn't really the best. Sirius is biased."

"He's your godfather. It's his job to be biased," James replied with a smile. "Now go eat your breakfast."

"Yes, sir!" Harry replied with an exaggerated salute.

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Champ."

Harry put the mirror away and pulled himself out of bed. A hot shower always worked wonders toward waking him. He pulled on robes and arrived in the Great Hall just in time to be too late. Ron and Ginny offered to sneak with him down to the kitchens - a suggestion Hermione was immediately excited about. "I could talk to the house elves. I could tell them how wonderful freedom is!"

Suddenly Harry wasn't very interested in going to the kitchens.

"How many times are we going to have to tell you, Hermione? The house elves don't _want_ freedom," Ron said with a sigh. Harry wondered why he still bothered, unless he was _trying _to pick a fight, which was always a possibility these days.

"I wasn't asking for your opinion, Ronald," Hermione said, shooting him a withering glare.

"Fine, go ask _Vicky_. He'll tell you the same thing," Ron snapped before stomping away.

Hermione stood stock still, looking near tears. She turned to Harry. "He didn't ask me one thing about you all night," she said defensively.

"I know," Harry assured her. "I trust you. And I think I would like to go to the kitchens. I'd like to tell Dobby thank you for the socks. Although I don't really have a present for him. I should go up and get something."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I am not going up there," she said stubbornly. "I've had quite enough of being shouted at for one day."

Harry could understand that. There was only so much being shouted at he could take in one go before his temper began to get the better of him. "Wait here, then," he ordered. "I'll be back."

In his room, he listened to Ron complain in punctuated yells as he rifled through his trunk, hoping to find something. In the end, he decided socks for socks was a fair trade, grabbed a pair of black ones, told Ron not to worry about Hermione, and sprinted down the stairs and out the portrait hole.

The kitchens weren't nearly as exciting as Fred and George always made them sound. They were rather busy and loud and industrial, with shiny metal ovens and house elves scurrying to and fro. There was nowhere Harry could stand where he didn't feel in the way.

"Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked the second Harry walked through the door. Next moment, the elf was clinging to Harry's robes. He was wearing one of Hermione's hats.

"Hello, Dobby. We've come to say hello."

Dobby pulled nervously on his ears, huge tears welling in his eyes. "Harry Potter has come to see Dobby! Harry Potter is too kind, sir!" He yanked so hard at his ears that Harry was sure it had to hurt.

"I also wanted to thank you for the socks. I wore them to the ball last night. Professor Moody said he liked them."

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "Harry Potter is a great wizard!"

Harry was a little afraid to give him the socks; at the rate he was going, the poor elf would wet himself. He offered them up uncertainly. "Erm, I brought you something, too. I didn't have time to wrap it. I hope that's okay."

Dobby took the socks with shaking hands. "Harry Potter has given Dobby a present!" he squealed before running headlong into the wall. Harry grabbed him as quickly as he could. "Thank you, Harry Potter," Dobby chirped. "Dobby sometimes forgets that he is being a free elf."

He inspected the socks. "Socks is being Dobby's favorite thing!" His eyes narrowed a touch and he looked up at Harry, confused. "But the shopkeeper is making a mistake. He has sold Harry Potter two socks exactly alike!"

Harry couldn't help smiling at that. "Oh, no! I didn't realize," he cried, making a mental note to always buy Dobby two pairs of socks. "I don't have any others with me. You can have one of the ones I'm wearing, if you like."

Dobby's eyes filled with tears that ran down his nose. "Harry Potter is giving Dobby the socks off his own feet. No, no, Dobby cannot take them. Harry Potter's present is perfect. Dobby will wear them proudly, even if they is being the same."

Harry sneaked a glance at Hermione and Ginny. Ginny was clearly trying not to laugh. Hermione looked horrified.

"He acts like he's never been given a gift before," she whispered.

"He probably hasn't," Harry whispered back.

"That's awful!" Hermione protested.

"Most house elves is not wanting gifts," a house elf nearby interrupted to say. "Most house elves is being happy with a job well done."

"But don't you want gifts?" Hermione asked. "And freedom? A pay? Don't you want to be able to say no if you don't want to do something?"

"House elves is being happy to serve their masters," the elf chirped. Other elves began eying Hermione warily. Dobby backed away.

"Erm, Hermione. I don't think they like this message," Ginny whispered. Hermione ignored her.

"But you can be free. All of you!" she cried passionately. "You don't have to be slaves! Look at Dobby! He's free, and he's happy!"

"Harry Potter's friend will be leaving Dobby out of this," Dobby ordered in one of the sternest tones Harry had ever heard a house elf muster, not including the time Chari had caught him searching for his Christmas presents while James was sleeping. After scolding him, she was so overcome with guilt she broke a plate over her head and woke James, who assured her she had done right and sent Harry to time-out in his room. Harry thought the whole thing was quite unfair, as he hadn't technically done anything wrong. James had never told him that closet was off limits, after all. Not that it would have changed anything if he had.

"But you want to be free!" Hermione insisted. Next thing Harry knew, he and Hermione were being ushered out of the kitchen by the tiny hands of a hundred house elves.

"Wait!" Harry interrupted. "I came down here because I was hungry." An instant later, he was holding a platter containing an entire rib roast with all the trimmings.

"They don't do anything halfway, do they?" Ginny asked once they were outside and the door had been closed firmly in their faces. She pulled at a small piece of roast. "This is pretty good. It's even better than my mum's."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Harry informed her, a twinkle in his eye.

"You do, and I'll launch bat bogeys at you while you sleep. Don't forget, I'm allowed to go into your dorms."

Harry decided it would be wise to change the subject. "Where am I supposed to take this?" he asked.

"Take it to the common room," Ginny told him. "You'll be a hero. Imagine, managing to nick an entire rib roast."

"Didn't really take much, effort, did it?" Hermione commented. "They couldn't wait to give it away."

"Yes, and all this time I thought Fred and George were so brave nicking all that food," Ginny added with a sigh. "I'll never look at them the same way again."

The rib roast did indeed make Harry popular. It disappeared so quickly he almost didn't get any. Hermione wouldn't eat a bite of it, deciding instead to redouble her efforts with her hats. "Those poor things," she murmured. "I feel so guilty. I've been so busy thinking about the ball and Viktor that I've been forgetting to make hats. Just think how many more of them would be freed by now if I hadn't let myself get distracted."

"Hermione, weren't you listening?" Ginny asked. "They don't want to be freed."

"You're just as bad as Ron is. Of course they want to be freed," Hermione insisted. "They just don't know it yet."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again and shot Harry an exasperated look. "Would you help me out here?"

Harry only shrugged. "I've tried, Gin. It's a losing battle."

At lunch, Harry looked up at the staff table and saw two noticeable absences. Hagrid and Sirius were both gone. Harry decided to check on Sirius first, and so, after lunch, he climbed to the Astronomy tower and banged on Sirius' door. Sirius did not answer. Harry found him in the Astronomy classroom, sitting at the desk, his head in his hands. Harry tip-toed into the room. At first he thought Sirius was asleep. Then he heard a cough.

"Sirius?" Harry questioned tentatively.

Sirius' head jerked up. "Harry! You startled me. Come in."

"What are you doing?"

Sirius picked what looked like a newspaper off the table and hastily folded it. "Just reading the paper," he reported. "Rita Skeeter's at it again. Has two stories this morning, only one of them aimed at ruining your dad's life."

"Well, that's an improvement, I suppose. What's the damage?" Harry braced himself as Sirius rolled up the paper and tossed it to him.

"_Aurors Corrupted?_" the headline read. It went on to say that Severus Snape had once been a Death Eater and had recently been seen in the presence of another known Death Eater.

"_This reported has uncovered evidence that Snape was a schoolmate of none other than James Potter, father of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Hogwarts Champion. Witnesses report that Snape, who regularly drew the dark mark on his school notes when we was a student, is a close, personal friend of James and his wife, the late Lily Potter, née Evans. Snape now uses his power as a teacher to punish students with stinging hexes and make personal threats against Harry Potter. Reports that Snape was acquitted because of his connection with the auror department were inconclusive, but such an event would be a dark stain indeed on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._"

"Doesn't she have kittens she should be drowning or babies she should be stealing candy from or something?" Harry asked. "Besides, how did she even know about Snape?"

"Plenty of people know about Snape. What I'd like to know is how she found out about him drawing the dark mark on his notes. She wasn't anywhere near last night when I was telling you about that, and I highly doubt that two people would randomly think about it in the same day."

"And the stinging hexes," Harry added. "I saw him do that, and she wasn't there, either."

"Well, it gets worse. Read her second article," Sirius ordered tersely.

The second article was about Hagrid. Skeeter had somehow found out about his being half giant. The article also maintained that the skrewts were the fruits of an illegal breeding project in which he had crossed manticores with fire crabs. Harry wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit surprised.

"Did you know he was half giant?" Harry asked.

"We more or less put it together when we were in school," Sirius replied. "There aren't many viable reasons for a chap to be that large, but we never cared. A person's can't help who his parents are. He could be half vampire for all the difference it would have made to us. He'd still be Hagrid. It doesn't matter a bit."

"Of course not," Harry emphatically agreed.

"The only people who worry about things like that are idiots who have to build themselves up by bringing everyone else down. Like Skeeter."

"Oh!" Harry cried, remembering. "Hagrid wasn't at lunch. You don't think he let that cow get to him, do you?"

"Have you met Hagrid?" Sirius asked. "We should definitely go check on him."

Hagrid let them in only after Sirius threatened to blast down the door if he didn't. They found him inside his dark hut, inconsolable.

"I'll be sacked!" he fretted.

"Come now, Hagrid. When have you ever known Dumbledore to sack someone because of their status?" Sirius asked, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, you're a great teacher!" Harry told him. "Dumbledore would never sack you!"

"And she insulted my skrewts!" Hagrid wailed. He seemed almost more upset about that than anything.

"Some people have no taste," Sirius said sympathetically. He gave Harry a small wink behind Hagrid's back.

"She says they're a hybrid like it's a bad thing! There's nothin' wrong with bein' half and half!"

"Of course there isn't," Harry agreed. "You should be proud of who you are."

"Half-breeds deserve their dignity, too," Sirius added, though Harry still couldn't work up much sympathy for the skrewts, dignified or not.

"Yeh're right," Hagrid sniffed. "Though some people aren' proud of it. Some people would rather pretend they have big bones. Well, not me. I'm half giant, and proud of it. Me dad was a good man, and me mum, well, she was a good giantess."

"Right!" Harry said with a nod.

"That's the spirit!" Sirius enthused.

They ended up spending the entire afternoon with Hagrid, but when they left he was decidedly more cheerful. The number of rock cakes Harry and Sirius had eaten likely had something to do with it.

It was after dark as they made their way back to the castle, though the moon was bright. They could almost smell their dinner waiting for them. "Did I ever tell you I lost two teeth in one go on one of his rock cakes once?"

Harry shook his head; he wasn't surprised.

"They were baby teeth, luckily, but I still haven't quite got back my taste for them." He pulled five cakes out of his pockets and dropped them on the ground. "Maybe the birds will eat them," he offered.

"Only if they never want to fly again," Harry replied.

Sirius laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder. "You're pretty funny, kid. I think I'll keep you around."

"And what's in it for me?" Harry asked.

Next thing Harry knew, he was being tickled. He tried to twist away, only to discover himself in a head lock. "What's in it for you is being able to brag to the world about what an amazing godfather you have. And I'm going to tickle you until you say so."

"Okay, okay! I have an amazing godfather."

"The most amazing godfather."

"The most amazing godfather," Harry cried between gasps.

"Wisest amongst wizards."

"Don't push it," Harry ordered, finally managing to slip away.

"Oi!" Sirius complained. "My head locks are supposed to be inescapable."

"Face it, the most amazing godfather has met his match in the most amazing godson."

Sirius' smile faded quickly into mock sternness. Harry began to run. Sirius ran after him, shouting increasingly unlikely threats until they both arrived, panting, at the entrance hall.

"I suppose we should act like we're civilized now that we're inside," Sirius suggested.

Harry nodded his agreement.

"Or not," Sirius said quickly, reaching out to tickle Harry once more before they both went into the Great Hall for dinner, smiles still plastered on their faces.


	25. Lessons and Lore

Potter Manor never changed. It was comforting in its sameness. Sirius always liked coming there; he had so many happy memories with the Potters. Over there was the spot where James had punched a hole in the wall, furious because he'd seen Snape steal a kiss from Lily just before they exited the Hogwarts Express. It was Sirius who had the idea to fill it in with toothpaste; it matched perfectly. The Potters were never any the wiser. And there was the little broom closet where James and Sirius had gone the summer after their first year to solemnly prick their fingers and declare themselves blood brothers. Neither of them had ever had a blood brother before, and Sirius' real brother had already begun pulling himself away from Sirius, poisoned by their parents' special brand of cruelty. James was more a brother to him now than Regulus had ever been.

The house was a living ode to James' childhood. And Sirius', after he started at Hogwarts. There were pictures of James all over the house. James at three, shrieking with laughter as his dad tossed into the air. James at five, zooming in the back yard on his toy broomstick. James at seven, showing off his first lost tooth, smiling wide and pointing to the hole in his mouth. James at nine, pouting over his brand new glasses, trying not to smile as his mother made faces at him. James at eleven, looking proud and sharp in his Hogwarts robes, brandishing his new wand at the camera as though ready to explode it.

Then, very suddenly, the pictures of Sirius appeared. Sirius and James sitting in a sea of wrapping paper, smiling happily, their first Christmas together at Potter Manor. Sirius had not quite been able to keep the sadness out of his eyes; his parents hadn't sent him a single present. Sirius and James peeking out the windows of the tree house out back, warning Mrs. Potter not to come up because it was their very secret fort, and girls weren't allowed. Sirius and James playing quidditch, a look of brash confidence on their faces. Sirius and James scratching their heads and smiling apologetically at the camera as they looked around the destroyed kitchen; they had been trying to make Mr. Potter a birthday cake, but somehow it had exploded. Sirius and James flirting with a couple of muggle girls who lived in town. Sirius and James hugging Mrs. Potter, towering over her, at their graduation. Sirius' parents hadn't even bothered to come.

Peter and Remus made several appearances, smiling contently with their friends. All the Marauders on their broomsticks, tossing a quaffle. Peter always dropped it when it came to him. The Marauders dancing in the summer rain, covered head to toe in mud. The Marauders hanging upside down in trees, even after they were far too old for such things. The Marauders standing happily beside James and Lily as they said their vows.

Sirius still had to fight down a slight surge of anger when he saw pictures of Peter the day Harry was born, smiling innocently at the camera, wearing long sleeves, even though it was the hottest part of the summer. Had he already betrayed them by then? Was he planning it yet? It had never even occurred to them to suspect him. How different things would be if they had. Lily might still be alive; Harry wouldn't be the boy-who-lived with all the dangers that title held for him. Sirius would be sleeping soundly and cheering loudly for Cedric Diggory, the _only_ Hogwarts Champion. He certainly wouldn't be worrying about how to keep his godson alive as he faced the tasks ahead of him.

"Are you ready?" James asked tersely.

Sirius ripped his eyes away from the pictures and studied James. He nodded solemnly.

James rarely came to Potter Manor, but the evening before, he and Remus had arrived home from their holiday to the news that Bunnie, the Potter family's house elf, had died. It wasn't surprising; she was old, even when he was young, and she had been very ill the last few years. Still, James loved her, and he would miss her. She was always there throughout his childhood. He had tormented her, really. Not on purpose: he never would have done such a thing on purpose, but through childish innocence. He would ask her to bring him biscuits, and she would, only to discover that he didn't have permission for biscuits, and she would be devastated, thinking she had let the family down.

James' parents tried to give her orders with no loopholes, but James was a master at finding them and exploiting them. James didn't even want to think of how many times he'd been punished for using Bunnie to get around the rules his parents had set for him. He blushed a little thinking of it now, but he had been little, and hadn't understood. Still, Bunnie loved him. Unequivocally. Unconditionally. Always. She trusted him, cared for him, adored him. Bunnie had taught him so much about love and kindness and selflessness. And now she was gone.

Most people didn't mourn house elves. In most families, their passing was an inconvenience, meaning only that a new house elf must be acquired. The Potters had a little graveyard out back for their house elves. The only one that had died in James' lifetime had been Bunnie's mother, Brendy, when James was four. He still remembered standing out in the snow, holding his mother's hand, itching to hurry up and go sledding already, as his father dug a grave and laid the little house elf inside. James had wanted to help - digging was one of his favorite things, after all - even asking if he could go and fetch his little spade, but his mother told him to hush, that this was a sad day, and that his dad wasn't playing in the dirt. It was the first funeral James ever went to. It wasn't the last.

Today, thankfully, there was no snow, but the ground was cold and hard. James, Sirius, Remus, and Harry took it in turns to dig, trading places when they were too tired to continue. A six-foot hole required a lot of digging, but James refused to use magic. After all Bunnie had done for him over the years, he could do this for her.

Bore stood in the distance, watching. They were mates, he and Bunnie, though he refused to grieve in front of James. That wasn't their way. James had tried to give him some time off, but he refused, looking almost insulted. "A house elf can't be leaving his family because he is sad, Master Potter."

Chari stood beside him, her little hand in his. She was their daughter. They had another daughter, as well, who now lived with the Longbottoms, and a son who died when he was only a few days old. Bunnie had refused to grieve then, James remembered, but he had caught her crying in the attic one day. The moment she saw him, she stopped and apologized, shooing him out because he wasn't supposed to be up there. James gave her his favorite teddy bear to make her feel better.

"He always helps me cry," James had explained. She had kept the teddy bear all those years. Bore asked them to bury it with her, and so they would.

When the grave was dug, Sirius hopped into the grave to help as Harry and Remus handed Bunnie's little casket down. It was made for a child, and James felt an overwhelming sadness thinking of all the grief in a world where things like child-sized caskets were a necessity. He refused to let himself think of how close he had come to having to bury a child-sized casket alongside his beautiful wife. The thought still gave him chills.

James climbed out of the grave and went to Bore and Chari to ask them if they wanted to join them. Chari shook her head. They had their own rituals, James knew, performed in secret. House elf culture was a very mysterious thing. James put a dirty hand on Harry's neck, not sure what to say. He remembered Harry insisting they bury a dead bird once, and Harry had even given a little eulogy for it. James had been proud that day: proud of the kindness his tiny son was showing to the world. It was difficult to explain, but James always felt a little surge of pride when he caught Harry taking after Lily. She had been the best of all of them, and there wasn't anyone better for Harry to emulate.

"Would anyone like to say a few words?"

No one moved.

"You knew her best, Dad," Harry offered.

James nodded resolutely. "Bunnie loved everyone, and the world seems a little bit sadder without her. She gave everything she had to everyone she met, and I shall miss her. She was the closest thing any of us will ever see on this earth to a perfect being. Goodbye, Bunnie. Rest in peace."

The burying went much more quickly, and then James set a headstone; a small rock on which he had engraved Bunnie's name and dates. Then they all went inside to wash up and find some dinner.

"I'll cook," Harry announced as they settled in the parlor.

James mussed his hair affectionately. "You don't have to do that, Champ."

"You all worked a lot harder than me," Harry said with a shrug.

James smiled. "All right, then. If you want to cook, I'll let you."

"Of course, the only thing I know how to make is spaghetti," Harry said with a grin.

"Well, that's just unacceptable," Sirius butted in. "You can't live off of spaghetti. Come on, kid. I'm going to teach you how to fry chicken."

Sirius grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the kitchen.

"Your grandmother taught me to cook in here," Sirius told him, grabbing some flour. "Get a plate down, would you? The summer after sixth year, I got my own flat in London, but I was complete pants at cooking. I'd never had to do it before. At first, I lived off of canned soup, and when I thought I'd go mad if I had to eat it one more time, I started coming over here for dinner. Bring the plate over here. Your grandparents were happy to have me, but your grandmother thought I should probably know how to cook just in case.

"She made your dad learn as well, and he was not amused, but it turned out to be a good thing, because your mother was such a horrid cook. She could burn water. Put some flour on the plate. I'll get the spices. Your grandmother was a wonderful cook. The best food I ever had was right here in this kitchen. She could even make liver taste good, and that's saying something. She was even better than Mrs. Weasley, only don't ever tell her I said that."

"I won't," Harry assured him.

"Good. She's a little scary, that woman. Grab the chicken out of the icebox, would you?"

Harry dutifully fetched the chicken and followed Sirius' instructions for cutting it. "Why do I have to be the one with my hands in a dead chicken?" he protested.

Sirius grinned. "Because you're learning. When you're the one teaching your godson to cook, you can make him put his hands in a chicken. And I highly recommend that you do; it's very amusing."

Harry reached over to the plate of flour and picked up a handful to toss at Sirius. Sirius' smile faded quickly.

"Watch it, you!" Sirius warned, dumping the entire plate of flour over Harry's head. "Now see what you made me do?"

Harry shook the flour out of his hair, being careful to fling as much of it onto Sirius as he could.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you two alone," Remus said from the doorway.

"Where's James?"

"Trying to convince Bore to at least take the rest of the night off. He's not getting very far. That is one tough house elf."

"So, he's busy, is what you're saying?" Sirius asked, advancing on Remus with the bag of flour behind his back. Remus never knew what was happening until he was covered in flour.

"Why do you always have to escalate everything?" Remus asked with a sigh.

Sirius shrugged. "Anything worth doing is worth doing right. Come on, Remus; help me clean up this mess."

Remus' only response was to shoot him a dirty look while beating the flour out of his robes. Remus could say quite a lot with just a look, Harry had learned.

"Harry?" Sirius asked.

"I'm up to my elbows in chicken guts, here, mate," Harry said apologetically. Sirius sighed and set about cleaning up the mess.

"What is this anyway?" Harry asked, pulling something out of the chicken.

"That's it's heart," Remus explained.

"They leave in the heart?" Harry cried, dropping it into the sink.

"Some people like it," Remus offered. "My mother used to make paté out of chicken livers. It wasn't bad. They have sort of an earthy flavor."

Harry shook his head in disgust. "There are some things a person just shouldn't eat, and liver is one of them."

"Hear, hear!" Sirius spoke up from his spot on the floor.

Content that all the contaminants were out of the chicken, Harry set about cutting it, following Remus' instructions.

"There! Done!" Sirius announced, rising from the floor.

"Why didn't you just use a scouring charm?" Remus asked.

"Didn't think of it," Sirius explained.

"How could you have not thought about it? That's your favorite charm."

Sirius shrugged again. "Why did you wait until I was finished to suggest it?"

"Because it was more fun this way," Remus said with a small smile. "So, was that all the flour?"

"Nah, there's another bag. Bunnie kept this place well-stocked. So, Harry, back to the chicken. Haven't you finished cutting it yet?"

"Yes. I finished a full five minutes ago, while you were crawling around on the floor."

"Well, I finally just ordered Bore to take the weekend off," James said, coming into the kitchen. He looked Remus up and down. "What happened to you?"

"Sirius."

James shook his head slowly, tsking. "I might have known. I suppose he got you, too, Champ?"

Harry nodded. "Not as bad as he got Remus, though. I only got a plateful. Remus got the whole bag."

"Now wait a moment. Harry started it!" Sirius cried defensively.

"Sure he did," James said with an exaggerated nod. "I believe you. Really. I do."

James sat down at the little table in the breakfast nook, a pile of old newspapers catching his eye.

"Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

He picked up the top paper, and gasped when he saw the headline.

"Oh, no. Don't read that!" Sirius cried, but too late.

James scanned the story and immediately tossed the paper down again.

"Why is it that every time I save someone's life, the person ends up hating me?"

"No good deed goes unpunished," Sirius said with a wry smile, pulling eggs out of the ice box.

"And she wrote about Hagrid," Harry reported gravely.

"Hagrid? How could anyone pick on Hagrid?"

"She says he's half giant," Harry added.

"That's news?" James asked, quirking his eyebrows. "I thought anyone with half a brain would have known that."

"I didn't know that!" Harry protested.

"Okay, anyone with half a brain who's not still in school. Have you even studied giants yet?"

"We studied the giant wars, but not actual giants, no."

"Well, there you go. Once you'd studied giants, you'd have figured it out."

"When did you figure it out?"

"Well, we sort of had a leg up. Sirius' mum told me."

Sirius jerked his head up from his work. "She did? I never knew that! When did she tell you that?"

"Summer after first year. I mentioned I thought he was brilliant, and she was less than pleased. She seemed to think he was not an appropriate companion for someone of my status."

Sirius rolled his eyes so violently that James could even see it with his back turned.

"I think she was trying to scare me, but she didn't know me very well, did she? I thought it was wicked. Made me like him even more. I do wish Skeeter hadn't outed him, though. You'd think she could use all her talent at sneaking to discover something useful, like where Voldemort's hiding or why Barty Crouch has dropped off the face of the planet."

Sirius stood up a little straighter, but did not turn away from his the eggs he was resolutely breaking. "He has?"

James nodded. "He stopped coming to work a little before Christmas. He's been sending in instructions by owl. Percy's practically beside himself. He's more or less running things now. He's in his own personal heaven. He actually came down to my office the day before I left and tried to give me an assignment."

"And how did that work out for him?" Sirius asked casually, wiping his hands as he turned to face James.

"Not well. He barged in, tossed the instructions on my desk, and told me to get it done pronto. I made him go back out and knock. Then I asked him who had given him the authority to order aurors around, demanded to know whose permission he had sought to be in the auror office in the first place, and threatened to make him personally explain to Scrimgeour why he was wasting my time. I also gave him a very long treatise on the importance of manners, and threatened to tell his mother."

"That's just cold, Prongs," Remus said.

"I didn't mean any of it," James replied, feigning hurt. "Only I don't much appreciate being ordered around by eighteen-year-olds."

"He's nineteen," Harry corrected.

"The point still stands. Harry, if I ever catch you acting like him, I'll turn you into a frog."

"Mr. Potter!" Harry scolded in his best Percy voice. "You of all people should know better than to threaten your son. Why, Mr. Crouch never threatens anyone. Just yesterday, he was telling me how he personally saved London from raging chupacabras when he was only ten years old."

James turned to Remus and Sirius. "I don't think he takes my threats seriously, men."

Remus shook his head sadly. "Where did you go wrong?"

"Okay, Harry, now we dip the chicken in the egg and then cover it with the flour, like so." Sirius demonstrated with a little flourish. "And drop it in the frying pan. Easy peasy lemon squeezy."

Harry laughed. "I don't think I've heard you say that since I was four, Sirius."

Sirius shrugged. "What's wrong with easy peasy lemon squeezy? It's a classic! I don't want to say, 'any idiot can do it' because there's every chance you'll end up burning it, and then how would you feel?"

"Gee, Sirius, your vote of confidence is overwhelming," Harry deadpanned.

Harry did not burn the chicken. If anything, James and Remus said it was even better than Sirius'. Sirius took that as a personal affront and refused to eat any more. Ten seconds later, he changed his mind and agreed that, yes, Harry did have all the makings of an excellent cook.

"Someone had to get your mum's cooking skills, James."

"Oi! I've got my mum's cooking skills."

Sirius nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Don't flatter yourself, mate. You're good, but you're not that good."

James pretended to pout through the rest of dinner, and he, Harry and Remus ganged up on Sirius to make him do the washing up. After only a few minutes, however, guilt set in, and they all went to help him.

When they had finished, they retired to the parlor to work on bubblehead charms.

"Do we have to?" Harry complained.

"Yes, we do," James told him. February seemed much closer this side of the new year. "You've only got another month."

"That's plenty of time," Harry protested.

"It's not as much time as you think."

Sirius' expression took on a pensive edge. "You know, I had lunch with Moody yesterday. Interesting chap. I mentioned our little bubblehead problem, and he suggested using gillyweed."

"Gillyweed?" Harry asked. "What is gillyweed?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea," Remus agreed.

"But what is it?" questioned Harry.

James shook his head. "I don't like it. What if he's still down there when it wears off? He'd drown."

"What does gillyweed do?"

"He can take some extra just in case," Sirius commented with a wave of his hand. "It's rare, but not that rare. We could get our hands on a good-sized supply pretty easily, I should think."

"But what is gillyweed?"

"I think it's better to use a charm," James said definitively. "There's much less chance that something could go wrong once he's mastered the bubblehead charm, and it will be useful down the road."

Harry felt like he was about to scream. "Will someone please tell me what gillyweed is?"

"Not to mention that he wouldn't be able to come back to the surface if he got done before it wore off. No, I don't like it. Too many mitigating factors."

"But I still want to know what-?"

"We could get him some to have on hand as back-up," Remus suggested. "Just in case something were to go wrong. You can never have too many back-up plans, right?"

"ARE YOU THREE GOING TO INCLUDE ME IN THIS CONVERSATION AT ANY POINT?" Harry bellowed.

The Marauders were momentarily taken aback by his outburst.

"Harry, honestly," Remus scolded.

"Moony, don't. You're right, Harry. We got a little carried away there, but we're interested in your opinion. What do you think?"

"Well, I'd rather like to know what gillyweed is," Harry said, trying to push his annoyance aside. They hadn't meant anything by it, after all. Harry was used to the Marauders running away with their ideas, but when the ideas were about him, he found it rather obnoxious.

"It's a plant," Sirius explained. "A water plant, to be precise. Grows in the Mediterranean. It's used in potion-making, mostly for very advanced potions."

"We nicked some from Slughorn our sixth year and managed to work out a potion that would let us walk on water," James added. "There's a little town in Scotland that still has a celebration for us every year. They thought we were angels."

Harry let out a small snort of laughter. "Angels? You?"

"What? We can be angelic when we want to be," James said, pasting on an innocent, doe-eyed expression that Harry did not believe for one second.

"Anyway," Remus continued. "When taken by itself, it has very powerful transfigurative properties. Specifically, it will give a person webbed hands and feet, and gills. Once you've taken it, you can only survive underwater until the effects wear off. Deep-sea divers use it. Most of the so-called mermaid sightings that muggles enjoy so much have been witches or wizards using gillyweed."

"That sounds like a good plan," Harry decided. "I'd like to use that."

"Well, Harry. It's not always the most reliable. It affects different people differently. Two people might take the exact same dose, and one of them will be under the effects for an hour, while another only for forty-five minutes. Or thirty. If it wears off before you expect it to, you'd be helpless at the bottom of the lake. I think you should try to learn the bubblehead charm, and we'll use gillyweed as a last resort."

That sounded logical to Harry, only he was so tired of bubblehead charms he was nearly sick. Still, Sirius, Remus, and James were patient as they helped him. It was nearly time for Harry and Sirius to return to Hogwarts when he finally had his breakthrough. Concentrating with all his might, Harry said the incantation, and heard the world around him go silent. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the world as though through a film. The Marauders were cheering, but he couldn't hear them. A moment later, the bubble popped, and all the Marauders were at his side congratulating him.

"Is it supposed to block out all the sounds?" Harry asked.

"That's common when you first start," James assured him. "You can tweak it easily once you've learned the basic premise. That was wonderful, Harry. Simply wonderful. Want to try it again?"

Harry's second successful charm stayed a little longer than the first. Sirius came and knocked on it to be sure it was solid. The knocks echoed strangely inside the little bubble."

"Now eventually, you'll get to where it will stay until you release the magic, but we can work on that another day. I can tell you're knackered just by looking at you," James said with a smile.

"I'm not," Harry insisted, but a yawn gave him away.

"And you've probably still got homework, haven't you?"

"Not much."

"Saved it all for the last minute, eh?"

"Not all of it..."

"I always did the same thing," James assured him, still smiling knowingly. He had hoped Harry would form better habits than he had, but he supposed the kid came by it honestly.

"Bye then," Harry said, hugging each of the Marauders in turn. "See you soon?"

James nodded resolutely. If nothing else, he would be checking in often just to reassure himself that Harry truly was all right. James still hadn't quite got used to the fear he felt somewhere deep in his soul every time Harry walked away from him. It reminded him of Harry's first day at school, when he had turned Harry over to a teacher he didn't know, and Harry had clung to his leg, crying, begging him not to leave, and James had pried him off and left anyway, fighting tears all the way home and wondering where the time had gone. There were some moments that were just so beautiful he wished he could freeze them and stay in them forever. This was one of them: Harry, safe and triumphant, proud of himself for accomplishing what few his age could.

He couldn't believe, sometimes, that Harry was fourteen. In two and a half years, he'd be of age. He didn't need James any more. Not how he once had, anyway. James wondered if all parents felt this helpless, watching their children grow.

James remembered his father telling him once that every father's goal should be to put himself out of a job. He wasn't quite there with Harry yet, but he was close. Painfully close, and every second felt precious. And now, here he stood, watching Harry walk away, back to school where someone very dangerous might have been plotting against him at that very moment.

Sirius shot him a small smile. "I'll watch out for him," he promised.

"I know you will," James replied, thankful all over again that Sirius was at Hogwarts. He didn't know if he'd have had the heart to send Harry otherwise.

Harry disappeared into the floo, leaving only a small bit of ash and a last blurry image. Sirius disappeared just behind him, and Remus followed, leaving James alone in the empty mansion, so full of ghosts and memories. He took one final look around before stepping in the floo himself and going to his little cottage. There were far fewer things to haunt him there.


	26. Under Water, Under Fire

James was a bundle of nerves as he sat in the bleachers staring at the deceptively serene surface of the lake. He had been doing well until the allotted hour ended and Harry had not reappeared. Now every second seemed a lifetime as his insides twisted tighter and tighter. He missed the days of muggle school when the most he had to worry about was that Harry would do accidental magic on the playground and end up in a tree or spill some unfortunate secret. This... this was torture.

Beside him, Sirius was not much better. After Cedric Diggory appeared, just one minute after the hour was up, he began to chew on his fingernails: a very un-Sirius-like behavior.

Only Remus remained calm. "He'll be fine. His bubblehead charm is perfect, and he's got the gillyweed for backup. He knows how to defeat anything he'll meet down there."

Sirius took his fingernail out of his mouth. "Then where the hell is he?"

"It's a big lake. He's probably just having trouble finding the mermaids. If you don't stop chewing on your fingers, you're going to have nothing but nubs left by the time this is over."

"I can't help it! How am I supposed to keep from chewing my fingernails when my godson is down there facing God knows what?"

James ran a hand nervously through his hair, wishing Sirius hadn't said that. "I should have kept him home this year. Or kidnapped him and kept him in an undisclosed location until all this was over. I must have lost leave of my senses when I agreed to this. Whose idea was it to send children into the lake in February anyway? He'll freeze to death!"

"He won't freeze to death," Remus soothed. "Look at Diggory. He's fine."

James looked over to where Cedric sat, bundled up and with steam coming out of his ears. James had been on the receiving end of enough of Madame Pomfrey's pepper-up potions to recognize the effects. Next to Cedric, his hostage sat, similarly bundled and steaming.

"Hey, isn't she the girl Harry fancied last year?"

"Cho Chang," Ron supplied. "She's going out with Diggory now. You think Ginny will be all right, don't you?"

"I'm sure she will," James assured him. It was easier for him to be objective about Ginny than about Harry. She was sleeping, after all, and Dumbledore knew just where to find her should anything go wrong. Harry could have been anywhere in the lake, and James had gone swimming in that lake enough times to know exactly how huge it was and how many unexplored corners it contained. Anything in the world could be hiding in there, and they would never know.

A head appeared above the gently lapping water. James perked up, ready to run should Harry need him. He slumped again as the champion appeared above the water. It was Fleur, sobbing. She had been attacked by Grindlylows and had not been able to rescue her hostage.

"Gabrielle!" she screamed. "Où est ma soeur? Madame Maxime!" Madame Maxime ran to her side to try to settle her. Madame Pomfrey tried to tend to her, but Fleur pushed her away, determined to get back to the water to make another attempt at rescuing her sister.

"Are you sure Ginny will be all right?" Ron asked nervously. "What if Harry doesn't get to her?"

"Then the mermaids will bring her up," Sirius explained tersely.

"They'll bring Harry up, too, if something happens," Remus offered.

Sirius and James both gave curt nods.

"Not really much to watch, is there?" Ron asked.

James shook his head. There had been a flurry of activity in the beginning as the champions took their places and prepared themselves. Harry had turned to smile confidently at him. James had responded with a thumbs up. Harry's bubblehead charm had been executed beautifully, every bit as well as Fleur and Cedric's had been, possibly better. Krum was the only one to choose a different path, doing a messy transfiguration job that left him as only half a shark. Then the waiting had begun. James hated waiting. He hated it even more when Harry was in danger.

"What is that kid doing down there?" Sirius asked.

"I've had about enough of this," Moody growled from behind James. He stood suddenly and stomped over to the isolated bench where the champions sat defrosting. After a brief conversation with Cedric, he returned. "Diggory says he saw Harry in the mermaid village. He had freed Ginny. He doesn't know why he hasn't come up yet."

James' mind began to race with all the things that could have gone wrong between freeing Ginny and reaching the surface. Images of grindlylows and the giant squid rampaging and sea serpents marched through his mind. By the time Krum appeared with Hermione in tow, James had concocted an elaborate fantasy in his mind involving piranhas, sharks, electric eels, and tigers with gills cornering Harry in an underwater cave.

The Marauders breathed a collective sigh of relief when Harry appeared above the waves, heaving both Ginny and a blonde-haired girl whom James assumed to be Gabrielle up with him.

"What did he bring her for?" Ron asked. "You don't reckon he was down there playing hero, do you?"

"Playing hero?" Sirius repeated.

"Yeah, you know Harry. He always has to save everyone. It's a real problem."

"If I recall correctly, you've been right there next to him most of the times he's gone saving someone," James said, rounding on Ron. "In fact, weren't you the one who convinced him to go into the Chamber of Secrets all by himself?"

Ron blushed. "It was his idea to go after the Philosopher's Stone," he reminded James, as though that somehow made it better. He gave the Marauders an apologetic little smile and rushed off to the Champion bench to wait for Harry.

James' leg muscles twitched with the desire to run straight to Harry and ensure he wasn't hurt. Instead, he forced himself to wait until Harry had waded out of the water, carrying Gabrielle. The moment he came ashore, Fleur was upon him. She nearly knocked Ginny over in her rush to get to Harry and Gabrielle.

Harry put Gabrielle down just as Fleur threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. "You saved 'er! You are my 'ero!" Fleur cried, loudly enough for the entire assembled crowd to hear. Ginny looked on, her face murderous, as Harry blushed deeply. He took a step away from Fleur and toward Ginny, his hand finding hers. Ginny's countenance softened as Fleur ushered Gabrielle away.

Harry waved shyly at the cheering crowd, whispering something to Ginny that made her laugh. He had never had James' penchant for attention. Were he in Harry's place, James probably would have been doing headstands by now, trying to work the crowd into a frenzy. Indeed, he had done just that several times at quidditch games, until he was about Harry's age and fell off his broomstick showing off. He woke up in the hospital wing two days later and had been scolded by nearly every adult in Britain once Madame Pomfrey had determined that there was no lasting damage.

Once Harry was wrapped and steaming, James decided he'd waited long enough and wandered over to the Champion bench. Sirius and Remus followed right on his heels.

"Hi!" Harry said glumly when he saw James.

"Why so morose?" James asked, sitting next to his son.

"I'm the only one who believed the stupid song. I got to the hostages first. If I'd just taken Ginny and gone, I'd have been the first one back. Ron reckons it was thick of me to believe it in the first place." James forced down a surge of annoyance at Harry's friend. He looked at the surface of the lake, trying to decide what to say. Dumbledore was involved in a cheerful screeching match with a mermaid. An important mermaid by the look of things.

"I think you were brave," Ginny said, kissing Harry gently on the cheek. Harry blushed, smiling.

"What was it like to have Fleur kiss you?" Ron asked, sticking his head between Harry and Ginny.

Ginny turned to glare at him.

"What did I say?" Ron questioned, backing away.

"Harry what happened down there?" Hermione asked.

"Well, when I first got underwater, I couldn't decide which direction to go, so I just swam down. Then I was attacked by grindlylows."

"Ze grindlylows are 'orrible! Zey would never be allowed in a lake at Beauxbatons!" Fleur inserted.

"Sounds to me like they don't allow anything fun at Beauxbatons," Ginny snapped.

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" James asked, his face full of concern.

Harry shook his head. "I was lucky. There was only one, I think. It scratched me a bit, but I'm fine. I hexed it!"

James smiled proudly. "Good for you. They're nasty little buggers."

"It was really dark down there, and eerie and - oh, bother, my watch has stopped."

"We'll get you a new one. Go on," James urged.

"Well, the mermaids were singing, so I followed the sound of their voices. It was hard, though. It sort of sounded like it was coming from all around. They've got an entire village down there! With houses and statues and everything. They herd schools of fish, like sheep. The hostages were tied to a statue. When I got down there, I untied Ginny, but then I saw Hermione, and I tried to untie her, too."

"That was very nice of you, Harry," Hermione said.

"You haff a vater beetle in your hair, Her-mo-knee," Krum cut in. Hermione had been giving him lessons in how to say her name.

Hermione brushed absently at her hair.

"They wouldn't let me, though. They'd only let me take Ginny, but I didn't want to leave everyone else. Seems silly now, but it was very creepy, and they're a little scary, mermaids. Not at all like in the stories. Then Cedric came and rescued Cho. He said Krum was coming and that I should go quickly, but I didn't want to just abandon Hermione. I tried to get to her again, but they stopped me. Then Krum came, and he got Hermione. Then Fleur's sister was the only one left, and I reckoned Fleur wasn't coming, so I untied her. The mermaids tried to stop me, but I threatened them with my wand. Then I swam to the surface as quickly as I could. That's all, really."

"That's all?" James asked. "That sounds like quite a bit to me."

"May I have your attention, please!" Dumbledore's voice sounded. "The judges have conferred and are ready to award points. None of our contestants arrived within the the hour time limit. The first to return was Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts, just one minute outside the time limit. He exhibited great use of the bubblehead charm. Therefore, the judges have decided to award him forty-seven points!"

Dumbledore waited as the crowd cheered. The Hufflepuffs were exceptionally loud. James found that he was glad; Hufflepuffs never had much reason to celebrate. It had been the same in his day.

"Miss Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons was next to arrive, though she had failed to rescue her hostage. She did, however, use the bubblehead charm effectively. We have awarded her twenty-five points."

"I deserved zero," Fleur mumbled, hugging Gabrielle tightly.

"Viktor Krum of Durmstrang arrived third, having used a fairly effective transfiguration spell. The judges have awarded him forty points."

Karkaroff clapped loudly, looking at the crowd as though expecting them to burst into deafening cheers at any moment. When they didn't, he deflated visibly and began to mutter under his breath.

"Finally, Harry Potter of Hogwarts returned well outside the allotted hour. However, Murmus the mermaid chieftain has informed the judges that he was the first to arrive and rescue his hostage, but refused to leave until he was sure all the other hostages were safe. Most of the judges-" here Dumbledore cut his eyes at Karkaroff- "believe this shows bravery and moral fiber. We have therefore awarded him forty-five points."

Ron clapped Harry on the back. "There you are, Harry! You weren't being thick! You were showing moral fiber!"

"Of course he was," James added. "That was very good of you, Harry, and I'm very proud of you. Winning is not as important as caring for others."

"I'm going to remind you you said that next time England is losing and you're yelling at the chasers to knock people off their brooms," Remus said with a small grin.

"No fair using my words against me!"

"I guess we're tied," Cedric said softly to Harry.

Harry did the math up quickly in his head. "Yes, I guess we are."

"We should go out to lunch," James decided. "Ginny, Ron, Hermione, you're all invited to come along, if you like."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Erm, I think I'd rather just stay here and rest. I already promised I'd have lunch with Viktor."

James was just opening his mouth to invite Krum along as well when he caught Ron scowling and watching them jealously and thought better of it.

The Three Broomsticks was surprisingly full for a Winter day. Madame Rosmerta told James that many of the people had come for the Triwizard Tournament. Rita Skeeter's articles had inspired even more curiosity than usual about Harry. James, as well, though in his case the curiosity had taken on a distinctively passive-aggressive tone. He had completely stopped opening parcels from anyone he didn't know after someone sent him a blood quill. Luckily, he recognized it for what it was before he disfigured his own hand trying to write with it and managed to track down the perpetrator as well as the shop where she had purchased the dark item.

"Isn't that Bagman?" Ron asked, pointing to a table in the corner. James looked and saw that it was. He was sitting with three goblins who looked very sinister, even for goblins.

"Why do you reckon he's hanging around goblins?"

James shook his head. "No idea, but they don't look happy."

"How can you tell?" Ginny asked.

"I've worked with them a bit," James replied. "You learn their mannerisms after awhile. Those three are angry, and angry goblins are bad news."

"Bagman's been trying to help me with the tasks," Harry reported around bites of his cheeseburger.

James narrowed his eyes. "He's a judge."

"He says I'm the underdog."

"Don't knock it, mate," Sirius said cheerfully. "Take what you can get."

"But that's cheating," James replied.

"Cheating's normal," Ron assured James, his mouth full of chips.

"I haven't been taking his help," Harry reported.

"Good," James said definitively. "Getting help from friends and family is one thing. Getting it from a judge is a bit dodgy."

Bagman chose that moment to look up and notice Harry. His face brightened considerably, and he rose, brushing the goblins away. "Ah, Harry, my boy!" he said, coming over to where Harry sat. "Splendid job this morning. Simply splendid! I couldn't have been more impressed with your courage. Staying down to make sure everyone was rescued took guts. Dumbledore was very proud."

"Erm, thanks."

"You'll do brilliantly in the final task. I'm sure of it. And since you're in the lead, you'll get a head start."

"Cedric and I are tied, actually."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius make a face. "He was first back, Sirius. He should have had more points than me."

"You'd have been first back if you weren't so selfless," Sirius argued. "I thought you should have had full points for being the only champion with a conscience."

"You mean being the only one idiotic enough to think Dumbledore would actually put students in danger?" Harry corrected.

"No, I meant what I said," Sirius replied. "I couldn't be more proud of you. Your dad would have done the same thing in your place."

James shook his head skeptically. "No, I wouldn't. Don't you remember how competitive I was when I was younger? There's a reason I want England's seekers to knock everyone off their brooms."

"How competitive you were when you were younger?" Harry asked. "What about now?"

"I'm not at all competitive now."

The entire table burst into objections as they all attempted to talk over one another and share stories of James' competitiveness. Even Bagman, who had pulled up a chair, had a story about James buying one hundred seventy-two tickets the last time the ministry held a raffle and then refusing to speak to the winner for a week.

"I did not buy one hundred seventy-two! I only bought one hundred seventy, and I didn't purposely not speak to the winner. I hardly spoke to her already. Besides, I still think it was fixed. Think about it, Ludo. The undersecretaries to the minister plan the whole thing and then the senior undersecretary wins? That's not fishy to you?"

"Not particularly," Bagman replied. "She had as good a chance as anyone. Besides, she's the sweetest thing that ever breathed."

Harry could tell that James disagreed, but wasn't going to say anything in front of Bagman. "What about last summer when you tried to cheat me out of my chess win?"

"Or the time you got so angry you threw my chess set out the window?" Remus asked.

"Now, that's not fair. I was thirteen when that happened."

"How about the time you threw mine out the window, then?" Sirius asked. "You were thirty-two then."

"Or the time you knocked Wormtail off his broom when we were playing two-on-a-side? You were twenty when that happened."

"That's not fair, either. You only had to blow on Wormtail and he'd fall off his broom."

"Then how about the time you knocked me off mine?" Remus asked.

"Ok, ok. Maybe I'm a little bit competitive," James admitted. "But I still say that raffle was fixed."

"There's nothing wrong with a little healthy competition," Bagman said with a wink. His stories of beating for the Wimledon Wasps carried the group through the rest of their meal.

After lunch, Bagman excused himself quickly when he saw some goblins headed their way, and Sirius and Remus walked Ginny and Ron back up to the castle. James and Harry spent the afternoon together in Hogsmeade, drooling over quidditch supplies and Zonko's products. When Harry returned to Hogwarts for dinner, a bag of Honeydukes sweets in one hand, a bag of fireworks in the other, and a new watch gleaming on his wrist, he'd nearly forgotten how eerie the bottom of the lake had been.


	27. A Thriving Threat

James was surprised by how much he missed the Marauders' Map. He used to pull it out sometimes, when he was missing Harry, and watch it. Seeing Harry's dot in the dormitory or the common room, or sometimes out wandering the corridors despite the late hour, was comforting to him. He was sure giving the map to Harry had been a good idea, but he wished he'd thought to make a copy for himself first. He'd grown spoiled by having it, just as the Marauders had done when they first made it. They used to wonder aloud how they'd ever lived without it. Now James wondered the same thing again. Harry had been at Hogwarts two and a half years before Remus found the map. James had had it less than a year, but now he found he could hardly do without it.

Little did James know the map was currently open on Harry's lap, illuminated by the soft glow of wand light. Harry studied it, sometimes, when he couldn't sleep. It was usually very boring, as most labeled dots were in their beds. Once Harry had caught someone called Luna Lovegood wandering aimlessly through the corridors, and he nearly always saw Filch and Mrs. Norris. Fred and George were notorious nighttime wanderers as well, though their usual trek took them only to the kitchens and back.

Tonight, Harry was watching Sirius' quarters, where Sirius had long been in conversation with Barty Crouch. Harry was sure there was some explanation, though he couldn't imagine what it might be. He'd heard his dad say that Barty Crouch had gone missing, that day at Potter Manor when they had buried Bunny. He'd also heard Sirius say on more than one occasion that he couldn't stand the man. Harry studied the map, trying to make sense of it. Finally, he decided there was no sense to be made and silently slipped out of bed.

Everyone was asleep; Neville's snores filled the room. Harry always tried to be asleep before Neville because otherwise, he had learned, sleep would be hard in coming. He made a mental note to ask Sirius to teach him a silencing charm when he got to the Astronomy Tower and rummaged through his trunk to find Dobby's Christmas socks, his trainers, and the invisibility cloak. Once the trainers were firmly attached to his feet and the invisibility cloak fastened around his shoulders, he tiptoed out of the dormitory and down the stairs.

He'd always thought it rather unfair, really, that he had to go down the stairs just to go back up the stairs whenever he wanted to visit Sirius, but that was how the castle had been built. He had been lucky once and was on the staircase when it moved, connecting him to the Astronomy tower after only two steps down. He had been unlucky once, too, and was nearly to the Astronomy tower when the staircase he was climbing moved him right back to Gryffindor. He had cursed loudly in that instant, demanding that the staircase take him back, but staircases are generally unmoved by threats, and so he had had to climb all the way down and all the way back up again. There were days when he thought he'd never forgive the founders for such an obvious design flaw.

The door to Sirius' chambers was opened before Harry had even had a chance to knock. He stood stupidly in the hallway, fist still raised, as he found himself staring at Mad-Eye Moody. "You're here?" Harry said dumbly.

"Yes, I believe I am. If I'm not here then I've been kidnapped and am being impersonated, but we all know that's not very likely," Moody replied gruffly. Even when making jokes, he was gruff. At least, Harry thought he was making a joke. He couldn't exactly be sure.

From somewhere inside, Harry heard Sirius' barking laugh. He was at the table, Harry guessed. At least, that was where he had been when talking to Crouch. "I'd hate to think what would happen to anyone who tried to kidnap you, Al. We'd only ever find pieces."

Moody ignored Sirius and instead opened the door wider for Harry. "Nice socks," he growled as Harry stepped past. "I didn't know Christmas could come again so soon."

Harry blushed slightly. "They were clean, and I reckoned this way I wouldn't have to dirty up a good pair."

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Moody growled once more.

"Yes. Yes, I should," Harry replied. "But I make it a point to break at least one rule a week. It keeps McGonagall on her toes."

Moody surprised Harry by roaring with laughter. It was so loud and so sudden that Harry jumped. Sirius, having grown used to Moody, did not react. Instead, he invited Harry to sit, ushering him into the chair where Barty Crouch had so recently sat, and offered him some tea, which Harry accepted eagerly.

Moody moved a pile of books and sat down himself, accepting tea that had not yet been offered.

"You trust me enough to take my tea?" Sirius asked from the kitchen.

"Yes," Moody growled, taking a sip from his hip flask. "Don't let it go to your head, and if you try anything, I'll turn you into a ferret. Don't think I won't."

Harry expected Sirius to retort with a promise to turn Moody into some sort of pastel rodent if he tried it, but his only reaction was to quirk an eyebrow and focus his attentions on Harry. "What brings you up here on this fine night, Harry?"

Harry looked out the window. It was not a fine night by even the most generous reckoning. The wind howled outside the castle, driving such a raging snowstorm that the snow rushed past the window sideways, eager to escape the violence of the whipping wind. The weather had taken a pronounced turn for the worst the day after the second task and had not let up for two days. Harry was thankful it at least waited until his foray into the lake. Just the thought of swimming in the lake in a snowstorm gave Harry a chill.

"Why was Barty Crouch here?"

Sirius's head jerked up, his expression nonplussed. "Crouch?"

"Crouch?" Moody repeated, his tone incredulous.

Harry nodded. "I saw him on the map."

"The map?" Moody questioned.

"Not possible," Sirius replied. "Crouch hasn't been here. I wouldn't allow that man into my quarters anyway." Sirius went about cutting up some sandwiches, muttering to himself. Harry could only make out a few words, none of them complimentary of Mr. Crouch.

Harry bit his lip and pulled out the map, ready to unfurl it and show Sirius what he meant.

"Is this the infamous Marauders' map?" Moody asked. "May I see?"

Harry hated it when adults asked questions that weren't really questions. In this case, he understood intuitively that, "May I see?" meant "Give me that right now," in the same way that when his Dad asked, "Don't you think it's time you tidied your room?" he really meant, "Your room has grown so disgusting that I can smell it all the way in my room, and you will not see the light of day again until that has been remedied". Harry wished adults would just come out and say what they meant. He had grumbled that to his dad once, and James had responded that he was attempting to be polite, but that if Harry preferred he be directive, he could try that instead and then ordered him to empty the rubbish bin. Harry grumbled some more at that, wondering how it was that his dad could always win. It wasn't fair, really. Adults had all the cards.

"Crouch isn't on here now," Moody said, studying the map with both eyes. "This really is quite impressive. You did this when you were sixth years?"

Sirius looked up from the sandwiches, nodding. "Took us quite a few tries before we got it right, though." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "You don't reckon it could be malfunctioning, do you?"

Moody shrugged.

"It is awfully old," Sirius allowed, "and magical spells don't last forever. We always reckoned the map would become useless eventually, but it is a bit disconcerting all the same. We used to say we were going to be buried with that map."

"All of you?" Harry asked.

Sirius nodded, piling quartered sandwiches onto a plate. "We were planning to die together in a great battlefield explosion. Well, your dad wanted a great battlefield explosion. I always imagined it as a drunken orgy. Remus said he preferred old age, really, and Wormtail maintained he wasn't ever going to die. Anyhow, we were planning to divide the map into four separate pieces and have it buried with us, so we could put it back together again when we got to heaven and continue our exploits even after death. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

Harry had trouble finding loveliness in any thought that hinged upon the death of his Marauders.

"Do you mind if I borrow this?" Moody rumbled. "Could come in handy keeping an eye on our two Death Eater friends."

Harry minded very much, but he knew better than to say so. He looked at Sirius, hoping Sirius would speak up in defense of his ownership rights, but Sirius had his back to them and was slicing lemons.

"Sure," Harry agreed glumly.

"Thank you. Now how do you turn it off?"

"Point your wand at it and say, 'Mischief Managed'," Harry supplied, wondering even as he said it why he was helping Moody to commandeer his map. Moody did as Harry told him and stuffed the map into his cloak just as Sirius appeared with the tea.

"Here we are, gentlemen. Tea, sandwiches, biscuits: everything a person could ever want."

Harry hadn't been particularly hungry when he came, but the smell of roast beef sandwiches was too much to resist. He tucked in happily as Sirius began telling about his book and how it was very nearly finished. By the time he left, Harry had almost completely forgotten about Barty Crouch.

Harry climbed to Gryffindor tower and, after half-listening to the fat lady's scathing lecture for waking her at such an hour, climbed through the portrait hole.

"Harry Potter!" Harry recognized the voice immediately and began searching for its owner. He found Dobby in a brightly lit corner, picking up one of Hermione's knotty hats. He clearly had many of them. They were piled so high on his head he couldn't reach the top of the stack to add his new one. Harry rushed to help him.

"Thank you, Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked. "Dobby has been hoping to see Harry Potter in the common room!"

Harry smiled as the hats wobbled with Dobby's every word. "Have you been collecting all of Hermione's hats?"

Dobby nodded excitedly, sending the hats swaying dangerously. Harry found himself wondering how many times in a night he lost the whole lot of them. "Dobby has to clean the Gryffindor common room alone. The other elves is finding the hats insulting, but Dobby doesn't mind, because Dobby has been hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and tonight he has!"

Harry had to bite his lip to avoid laughing as Dobby bounced on his heels, clapping his hands. The top few hats actually rose a few inches and plopped back down on Dobby's head. Harry briefly thought of what Hermione would say if she knew her hats hadn't freed anyone, and had only succeeded in causing more work for her favorite poster elf. She'd probably have an explanation. Hermione had an explanation for everything. He was interested enough in hearing it that he decided to tell her.

Next morning, at breakfast, he changed his mind. He and Ron came into the Great Hall to find Hermione frowning at a copy of the Daily Prophet and absently spreading jam on her eggs as she read. Harry knew what that meant. Rita Skeeter must have struck again.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked, reaching for the jam, to get it out of her reach as much as anything. He suddenly wasn't hungry.

"She's stopped picking on your father," Hermione reported, a grimace on her face, as though she were trying to soften a blow.

"Well, that's good," Harry said warily, almost afraid to ask the question he knew he must. "Who's she picking on now?"

"You," Hermione said tersely.

"Me?" Harry echoed stupidly. "Why would she be picking on me?"

Hermione shrugged. "Does she need a reason?" She handed over the paper and Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when he saw the headline: "Harry Potter, Heartbreaker". The article went on to describe, in surprisingly accurate detail, Harry's relationship with Ginny, but claimed he was also carrying on with Hermione and, surprisingly, Pansy Parkinson, behind Ginny's back.

While he was absorbed in the article, Ginny arrived and read over his shoulder, her face growing redder and redder. "That cow!" she fumed. "That... that... that... cow!"

"Careful," Hermione warned. "It's clear she's getting her information from the Slytherins. If one of them tells her you called her that, she'll probably turn on you next. Still, I wonder..."

"What?" Harry asked absently, his eyes still glued to the article as he tried to make sense out of the words. Most of them didn't even make sense. Who in their right mind would believe he'd be interested in Pansy Parkinson? His only interest in her was in using her robes to wipe beetle guts off his hand. The only candidate less likely for him to run around on Ginny with was Millicent Bulstrode. No sooner had he thought it than he caught a throwaway line where she claimed he flirted with her often, but that she had never returned his advances out of respect for her dear friend, Pansy.

"The article says I'm going out with Viktor."

Ron made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl.

Hermione ignored him, continuing without missing a beat. "She knew about his asking me to come visit him in Bulgaria. He asked me that after the tournament, away from everyone. None of the Slytherins could have heard. No one could have heard." Hermione furrowed her brow. "That's curious."

Harry forced himself to eat his toast, trying to ignore the pointing and laughter from the other three house tables, and especially from the Slytherins. He could already tell it was going to be a very long day. Just then there came a flutter of owls overhead, and Harry looked up instinctively in hopes that his dad or Remus had sent him something. If they had, it would take him hours to sort it out of all the mail he received. He had grown used to unsolicited fan mail and regular sympathy letters since Skeeter had begun running articles on James, but those usually arrived a few at a time. Harry had never had mail in bulk like this.

"What in the world?"

Ron picked up a letter and opened it. His eyes grew wide as he read it. "I think you might want to be careful with these, mate. This lady's off her nut. She thinks you should have been eaten by the dragon."

"That's awful!" Ginny exclaimed. "These people don't even know you!" She picked up another one, scanning it quickly. "This one approves. She wants you to go out with her, too. She doesn't care that there are others. She's sent you a picture."

Ginny handed Harry a picture of a middle-aged witch with graying hair and a large wart on her eyebrow. She was winking at the camera and smiling so widely Gilderoy Lockhart would have been jealous. "Lucky me," Harry groaned.

Fred and George, who had just arrived, each reached for a letter, both of which were scolding. "This woman says that all women should be respected and that if she were your mother, she'd lock you in a cupboard until you got some sense," Fred reported cheerfully.

"Yes, that would certainly teach me to respect women," Harry replied dryly, reaching for a letter himself. He regretted opening it immediately when a yellowish goo that smelled strongly of petrol poured out of the envelope and onto his hands. The pain was immediate, and by the time he dropped the letter on the table and jerked his hands away, they were covered in oozing blisters and burns.

Harry winced, wrapping both hands in his robes.

"That's undiluted bubotuber pus!" Hermione cried. "Who would send you such a thing?"

Harry was in no position to take time to read the envelope. There was no return address in any case.

"Come on," Ginny said gently, grabbing Harry's elbow. "Let's get you to the hospital wing."

Harry was tempted to argue and go find Sirius instead. He at least would be able to make Harry laugh. But Sirius was not the best at healing. He did well enough with bumps and bruises and small cuts, but he wouldn't be able to do much with burns, Harry knew.

Harry showed Pomfrey his hands when they arrived in the hospital wing. "Undiluted bubotuber pus," he reported gravely. "Someone sent it to me." It seemed ironic that he'd made it through two tasks relatively unscathed and had been defeated by an envelope.

Pomfrey clucked and fretted a little more coldly than usual. She tended Harry's wounds dutifully, but not particularly gently. After the third time he yelped while she rubbed salve on his hands, Ginny spoke up.

"You read Rita Skeeter, don't you?"

Pomfrey studied her, her expression dewy. "Why do you ask, my dear?"

"Because what she wrote this morning is a lie. Harry would never cheat on me."

"Of course not!" Harry said indignantly. "She's my girlfriend!"

"Yes, I know you wouldn't," Pomfrey said, patting his shoulder. "I know everything she said about your father was a lie a well." Pomfrey continued to rub the salve into his burns, somewhat more gently than before, and when she wrapped them in bandages to protect them until the salve had finished healing, she was careful to ask if they were too tight.

That night, Harry dreamed he was an owl, flying silently through the cold, nighttime air. He could almost see the windy currents before him, and he rode them skillfully, swooping and turning as he carried his missive. He knew instinctively when he had arrived at the right house: a large manor with white columns on the wide porch. He flew in through an open upstairs window and dropped his letter at the blond man's feet.

The blond man read the letter with a shaky voice, deferring to a person in a chair whom Harry could not see. He recognized the high voice when it spoke. "You made a grave mistake tonight."

"It will not happen again," the blond man assured the voice, his eyes frightened. "Now that we know, we can plan accordingly. We might even be able to use it to our advantage. Our servant at Hogwarts was able to remedy the mistake."

"Such a mistake cannot happen ever!" the cold voice declared. A wand appeared, and the blond man fell screaming to the floor. Harry watched, frozen to the spot, as the man writhed in pain. He wanted to help, but he daren't move. It was over as suddenly as it had begun, and the man pulled himself to his feet.

"I-I am sorry, my Lord."

The cold voice said nothing, yet the man writhed again, his screams drowning out even the howling of the wind. Harry did not breathe until the screaming had stopped and the man had risen from the floor.

"Thank you, my Lord. Thank you for your patience with me." The man went to the chair and bent down, lifting something out of it. The creature that rose with him fit comfortably in his arms. It turned its head to look at Harry, its red eyes gleaming with a cruelty that Harry could not fathom. Far away, in his bed in Gryffindor tower, Harry began to scream.


	28. A Rogue and a Rival

"It doesn't make any sense," James said with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

Sirius nodded his agreement, plopping down next to James on the sofa. "I didn't want to worry Harry, so I made up something about maybe the map was just malfunctioning and distracted him with a story about explosions and orgies."

James quirked his eyebrows. "Did it work?"

"Of course. Your kid's very easy to distract."

"Not when he doesn't want to be," James replied. He couldn't help thinking of Harry's tunnel vision when it came to a mystery to be solved or a potentially life-threatening situation to run headlong into.

"Did I mention I ran into Gretchen Wilson in Hogsmeade last week?" Sirius asked suddenly. Gretchen Wilson had been in school with the Marauders when they were young, and James had even dated her briefly when they were too young for it to really count.

"Oh?" James asked. "How is she?"

"She's well. She's married and has three children. Her eldest will be coming to Hogwarts next year, and apparently Harry comes by it honestly."

"Comes by what honestly?" James asked, furrowing his brow.

"Being easily distracted."

James whacked Sirius with an Astronomy magazine.

"Be careful with that one. I'm the cover story." James looked at the magazine in his hand and, sure enough, Sirius was on the cover. It was a muggle magazine, so he was stationary, but even so his gray eyes twinkled mischievously. He must have been plotting something when the picture was taken. James tossed the magazine onto the coffee table, wondering what he was thinking. Of course Sirius had been plotting something. Sirius was always plotting something.

"You don't reckon Crouch is an animagus, do you?" James suggested, grasping at straws.

"Crouch? Your office would know about it, wouldn't they? Unless he's unregistered, but that's about as likely as Snape deciding to smile."

"But why would Crouch hide?"

"Maybe he's spying," Sirius suggested.

"Why would he spy on you?"

Sirius shrugged. "He hasn't ruined anyone's life in a while. Maybe he's trying to get back into that business and reckons his old victims are the best place to start."

James leveled his even gaze at Sirius. "You don't really think that, do you?"

"No, I don't really think that, but I do think something very strange is going on. Either the map really is malfunctioning, which isn't very likely, or Harry was mistaken about what he saw, which is even less likely. I'd almost like to think that, though. The thought of Barty Crouch being in my quarters gives me the creeps."

"You don't suppose Crouch could somehow be involved in this business with Harry, do you?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't see how, but I suppose it's possible. He was always a tyrant. Only he did it lawfully. Who knows what disgrace may have done to him. Only why would he have waited this long?"

James sighed loudly. "I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. I'm going to talk to Scrimgeour tomorrow about opening an official investigation. And I'm going to go get the map back from Moody."

James flung himself off the sofa, glad to have something to do. Sitting and waiting had never come easily to him, but he somehow couldn't wrap his mind around this. He had the feeling the there was something right in front of his face, some detail he should have seen that could pull everything together, but he was too close to it to see it. Like those paintings Remus had once dragged him to see in London. Up close, they were nothing but colored dots, indecipherable, but from across the room, the dots became people in a park or a portrait of the artist. The only problem was that James couldn't step back. He couldn't look at anything objectively when it might involve Harry. Perhaps Moody would have some ideas. He wasn't the greatest auror to ever live for nothing.

James opened the door and nearly stumbled over Harry and his friends. Harry's face was pale. His eyes went wide. He had just enough time to get out, "Dad? What are you doing here?" before he let out a wince that was very nearly a cry and his hands went to his forehead.

"What's the matter?"

"Harry's sick," Neville offered.

"I'm not sick!"

"He puked in the dormitory," Ron corrected.

"It was just a dream. I'm fine now."

James switched gears quickly, ushering Harry inside and settling him on the sofa. He ignored Harry's protests that he didn't need to lie down and was glad when Harry didn't make a fuss about obeying him, though he glanced often at his friends, probably to assure himself they weren't laughing at him. Judging from the looks on their faces, laughing at Harry was the furthest thing from their minds. Instead, they both wore their concern clearly. Still, James could easily recall the need to look cool in front of his friends.

He'd been ill once, when he was about Harry's age, and had been quite rude to his mother when she attempted to baby him in the hospital wing. Of course, the second she got him home, he dropped the attitude and begged her to sit with him and sing to him and bring him soup. He'd have died a million deaths if his friends had ever known, but there was something so incredibly soothing about something as simple as his mother's presence when he was sick. Even now, when he was ill, he wished for nothing more than the touch of her hand on his forehead.

James touched Harry's forehead gently. His scar felt warm and inflamed. Harry jerked his head away from James' touch. "Sorry," James murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Harry put his own hand up to rub at the scar. "It's fine. It's already feeling better. It doesn't hurt anywhere near like it did."

Sirius appeared with a wet flannel and sat next to Harry's feet, dropping a hand to pat lightly at his sock-clad foot. "What happened?"

"It was another one of those dreams," Harry reported, taking the flannel gratefully and holding it to his scar. His entire face transformed with the coolness of the rag. "Voldemort and a man. The same man from before. He made some sort of mistake, but it's fixed now. Voldemort was torturing him."

"I never did understand Death Eaters," Sirius said darkly. "You dedicate your life to the man, you run around killing for him and risking your life for him, and then he tortures you. How did he ever engender and sort of loyalty at all?"

"Well, there was the little thing about him killing you when you tried to get out," James replied.

"I'd rather be dead than subject to the whims of a tyrant."

James was inclined to agree, but then, neither he nor Sirius had ever had any inclination to be become Death Eaters, so they couldn't be expected to understand it.

"Could we please not talk about you two being dead?" Harry said weakly. He removed the flannel and winced, rubbing at his scar for a moment before turning the flannel over to press the cool side to the still angry skin.

Sirius disappeared and reappeared with a pain potion, which Harry refused.

"Is he going to be all right?" Ron asked, his face pale.

James regarded him a moment. He had nearly forgotten Ron and Neville were there. He pasted on his best reassuring smile. He'd mastered it well over the years. "He'll be fine. You two should go back to bed. Professor Black and I can take care of it from here."

"I'll walk you back," Sirius offered. "I'd hate for you to get into trouble for being caught in the corridors. And while we're on the subject, ten points apiece for Gryffindor."

Neville smiled brightly. It wasn't often he won points for his house.

"Feeling better?" James asked softly when they were alone.

Harry nodded. "It hardly hurts at all now. What are you doing here?"

"Just visiting," James replied with a small smile. "Professor Black and I are old friends, you know."

Harry let out a tiny, breathy laugh. "I think I heard you mention that once or twice before. He even said something tonight about you planning to die together in an explosion."

"That was when we were much younger. I think I'd prefer old age now. I think I'll live to be one hundred twenty-three."

"Why one hundred twenty-three?"

"Why not?" James asked with a smile.

Harry chuckled appreciatively, but went serious very suddenly. "Did you ever figure out what Crouch was doing here?"

James thought for a moment, torn. It was the age old tension. Part of him wanted to keep Harry young and naïve. To protect him from the world as long as he possibly could. Another part of him knew that it was a losing battle, and that crippling Harry with ignorance would only hurt him in the end. Moments like this had always defeated him, even before he became a father and the stakes were suddenly raised. Idealism and realism were constantly warring in his mind, filling him with both soaring hope and crushing discouragement. He so desperately wanted to believe that the world was good and that people were kind, and that his child would be safe. Today, however, everything he knew was telling him otherwise. Today, he knew, he had to be realistic.

"No, we didn't. We were just discussing that very thing when you and your friends came. The truth is we probably won't figure it out. Crouch has always had a very different way of doing things. He was ruthless when hunting dark wizards. It's possible he's doing so again, though it would be most unlike him to do so without the blessing of the ministry. He may be ruthless, but he's always been ruthless within the confines of the law. The idea of his going rogue is so unlike him I can't even imagine it. I'm starting to wonder if he's been sent on some sort of secret mission or something. It's the only explanation I can come up with that doesn't make my brain hurt."

"I can relate," Harry muttered, rubbing absently at his scar. James could have murdered Voldemort with his bare hands for doing this to his child.

James settled back in his chair and waited for Sirius to reappear. Harry closed his eyes tiredly, and his breathing gradually grew deep and even. James was glad he was getting some rest. He had nearly dozed off himself when he heard the door open. There had been far too many late nights lately. He opened one eye and watched as Sirius crossed the room, obviously trying to tiptoe and not wake his friends. James couldn't help a small smile. Sirius had never been the greatest respecter of slumber.

"I'm awake," James whispered. "But I don't know about Harry."

"I'm up, too," Harry said softly, though his voice was heavy with sleep.

"If you're both awake, I think we should go see Dumbledore," Sirius said.

James quickly agreed, though Harry grumbled, insisting that he was fine, and that the Marauders were blowing it out of proportion.

"That may be," James decreed. "But I'd rather blow something small out of proportion than ignore something big."

Harry apparently couldn't argue with that. He didn't, in any event. His only response was to groan, pull himself off the sofa, and motion for his father and godfather to lead the way.

"And we should stop by Moody's on the way and get the map back," Sirius suggested. Harry was glad someone had noticed how deftly Moody had managed to commandeer it earlier, but he said nothing. He reckoned it was probably best to let James and Sirius negotiate that little transaction.

When Moody answered the door, Harry was momentarily taken aback. His magical eye was wizzing around inside a glass of water in his hand. He wore a patch over the empty socket. He was in a green dressing gown and wore slippers on his feet - though the one on the wooden leg had slid around on the carved clawed foot that it was nearly backward, adding a certain lopsidedness to his gait that Harry found a little dizzying. It was odd to see Moody doing anything as normal as getting ready for bed.

"Ah, James, glad you're here," he barked. He reached into the water and grabbed his eyeball, inserting it into his empty socket with a small slurping sound. James made a face.

"That's really quite disgusting, Alastor."

"Then don't look!" Moody replied, not the least bit worried over the possibility of causing his guests to sick up in the middle of his living room. Not that Harry had anything left in his stomach to expel, even if he'd wanted to. "You're the ones who came knocking on my door in the middle of the night! Did you expect me to have a party waiting for you?"

Before anyone could respond, James gave a wry smile. "A very wise man once told me that evil rarely waits for morning, and that I would have to be prepared at a moment's notice."

Moody's features twisted into a crooked smile. "A very wise man, eh?"

"Yes, I seem to recall it being at about four in the morning when he apparated into my bed and then berated me for being asleep and for not having better wards up."

"Why didn't you have better wards up?" Moody demanded.

"I had wonderful wards up. Only I had included you in them. I trusted you. Can't think why. And besides that, you helped me put them up. If they were lacking, you've only yourself to blame."

Moody changed the subject very quickly. "Did you know that there are three hundred seventy-four floo connections in this castle, and only three hundred fifty-eight of them have passwords. The other sixteen are completely unguarded. Any idiot could just walk right in. It's an embarrassment."

"How do you even know that?" Sirius asked. "What did you do, go to each floo connection and check it?"

Moody gave him a look that said clear as day that that was exactly what he had done.

"How in the world did you even have time to check every floo connection in the castle? You only just left my quarters two hours ago."

"I used your map!" Moody barked, pulling it out of a pocket and brandishing it in the air. "Haven't you worked out that it gives passwords yet?"

"Well, yes, but... oh, never mind." Harry bit his lip to keep from smiling. It wasn't every day someone was able to stump Sirius.

"We actually wanted to speak to you about the map," James began.

"I'm still using it," Moody replied, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Only I gave it to Harry for a reason," James explained.

"And I borrowed it for a reason. I'll give it back the moment I'm done, but I've still got a few things I want to check. Weak spots in our security."

James, Sirius, and Harry all jumped at the suddenness of it when Moody shouted out, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE, POTTER!" Moody continued as though he hadn't noticed. "You of all people should know that."

Harry watched his dad, waiting for the next round of the argument to begin. James had never been one to back down easily. But Moody was almost like a force of nature: immovable, unstoppable, sucking everything around him into his vision for Hogwarts. Harry could see how he'd managed to cow department heads and ministers of magic alike when he was an auror. If he could silence James Potter and Sirius Black, he could silence anybody.

James pursed his lips. When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. Harry though that the evenness in his tone was a testament to how much he respected Moody. "That was below the belt, Alastor."

Both Moody's eyes shot up. Harry thought it was a sign of how much Moody respected James back when he said, "I didn't intend it to be. I only meant that you've put quite a lot of effort into keeping your son safe." It was the closest Harry had ever heard Moody come to an apology.

James cut his eyes briefly to Harry. "Speaking of which, we should get going. We were on our way to Dumbledore's office."

"I was thinking of going there myself," Moody replied. "I would very much like to know how he let so many breaches in security go unnoticed for so long."

"Go easy on him," Sirius warned with a small smile. "It's not every year he gets to have an ex-auror working for him."

"Does he always invite himself along?" Harry whispered while Moody went to get dressed.

James nodded ruefully. "He came on a date with your mother and me once. We were going to the seaside and made the mistake of telling him. Turned out he hadn't been in years and had been meaning to go. Really spoiled the mood. Every time we sneaked off to snog behind a sand dune, he found us and told us we were missing all the good stuff. He had a very different definition of good stuff than your mother and I did."

"I can imagine," Harry said sympathetically, trying to imagine snogging Ginny with Moody's magical eye trained on him. In the end, he couldn't imagine it and gave up trying.

Dumbledore's office was always a feast for the sensations. Strange instruments whirred on nearly every surface, emitting lights or smoke or sometimes little whistles. It always smelled of leather-bound books in there. A very ancient, musty sort of smell that Harry found comforting because so many of the books James read him when he was young had smelled much the same way. The smell would linger on his and his dad's fingers, so that when his dad tickled his chin or caressed his cheek or pushed fringe out of his eyes, Harry would smell the smell all over again. It always made him think of warm, homey things like quilts and fireplaces and hot cocoa with whipped cream that stuck to the tip of his nose.

Harry was secretly glad his dad was there, even if he did wish James hadn't dragged him off to Dumbledore. Harry wanted with every fiber of his being for his dreams to be only dreams, but he knew they weren't, and he saw his own worry mirrored in James and Sirius' eyes. He dutifully told Dumledore every detail of the dream he could remember.

"A manor with white columns?" Dumbledore said softly when he had finished.

"Describes half the manors in Britain," Sirius noted.

Harry picked absently at a fingernail. He wasn't the slightest bit tired, but still he wanted nothing more than to go and lie down in his bed.

Moody took advantage of the ensuing silence to begin berating Dumbledore over his lack of security. About the time he got to arming the windows, Harry slipped out, unnoticed. He would wait in the outer office, he decided.

He wandered over to Fawkes' gilded cage and stuck a finger in. Fawkes let out a cry, beautiful and serene. It filled Harry with a lovely, safe feeling all the way down to his toes. Harry rubbed Fawkes' beak for a moment, thinking of Hedwig. He'd been so busy with the tournament he'd really been neglecting her horribly lately. He'd go and see her tomorrow, he decided, and bring her something good to eat to make it up to her.

"Wandering, Harry?" a familiar voice asked.

Harry looked up to see Sirius standing outside the door. He'd exited so quietly Harry didn't even hear him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius cut him off. "No worries, kid. I know Moody's a little much to take sometimes. He's on about enchanting the rubbish bins at the moment. You'd think he'd have learned his lesson about that one last summer."

Harry gave a small smile before a silvery light caught his eye. He looked toward it and saw that it came from a cupboard. He peeked into it to see what was inside, being careful not to disturb anything.

"It's a pensieve," Sirius offered. "Don't get too close."

The silvery liquid in the pensieve was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. One moment, it appeared to be liquid, another moment gas, floating in the parameters of the runes that formed the pensieve's edges.

"I've never seen one before," he said, his voice awed. He heard of them, of course, and wondered what memories would look like. If he'd been imagining, he didn't think he'd have imagined this.

Sirius nodded. "They're very rare. My father had one, but I wasn't supposed to touch it. I did anyway," he added with a wink. "I broke it, actually. To get even with him after he... well, that's not important. He never managed to work out who broke it. He couldn't blame Reg or me because we were both supposed to be at school at the time. It was the perfect alibi. He never knew what a sneak I was. It's really a pity, though. It would be mine now if I hadn't broken it. Talk about irony. Not too close, Harry!"

Harry had inched so close to the quicksilver fog that his nose nearly touched it. Shapes swirled around inside, and Harry kept thinking that if he could just concentrate a little bit harder or look a little bit closer he could make sense of it. He remembered feeling that way when he visited Amsterdam with his dad once: like any moment some wall would break in his mind and he would be able to make sense of the Dutch words that were so like English and yet just different enough that their meaning eluded him.

Sirius pulled him back gently and closed the cabinet. "Going into someone's memories is quite the invasion of privacy, Harry. It's probably best we remove the temptation."

Harry found himself agreeing. He couldn't imagine how embarrassed he'd be if Dumbledore came out and found Harry looking at his memories. As though the thought had summoned him, the door opened and Dumbledore came out, ushering Moody along in front of him. James followed along behind, looking like he'd just been hit by the Knight Bus.

"I'm telling you, Albus, if you don't tighten security around here, you'll be sorry!" Moody growled.

"Thank you, Alastor. Why don't you write your suggestions up for me in a report and I'll see what can be done."

Moody nodded curtly and thumped off down the stairs, not waiting for the movement to take him to the bottom.

James made a beeline for Harry and Sirius. "You two abandoned me!" he accused.

"We did," Sirius said with a pleasant smile and a friendly nod.

"I felt pretty good about it," Harry added.

James shook his head. "Abandoned by my own kid. That's harsh, Harry. Really harsh."

Harry shrugged as Dumbledore approached. "Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

"No, I think Alastor covered everything," Sirius said.

"And then some," James added.

"In that case, perhaps we should all get to bed." Dumbledore gave Harry a tiny wink. Harry returned the wink.

James hung back, telling Harry goodnight and shooing him off. Sirius agreed to walk Harry to his common room and gave James a look that demanded he not discuss anything important until he got back.

None of this was lost on Harry, but he was far too tired to care. Sirius would probably tell him anything important anyway. He caught himself yawning loudly as he walked through the corridor. Now that the excitement was over, he was crashing quickly. He'd probably have a time and a half getting up in the morning, but he knew he would. Hermione would have kittens if he didn't go to class. Harry was nearly sleepwalking by the time they got to the Gryffindor common room. The warmth and softness of his bed had never felt so good. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. This time, he didn't dream.


	29. Connections and Conundrums

"Connection?" James asked warily.

Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes sad. "I can't explain it, but it's clear that's what's happening. He seems to be dreaming when Voldemort is particularly angry."

"So, you think Voldemort's... in his mind?"

"Not exactly. I doubt Voldemort knows about the connection, and even if he did, he's probably not strong enough to exploit it."

James flopped into one of Dumbledore's chairs and dropped his head into his hands, trying not to think about Voldemort having the ability to poison his child's mind without even realizing he was doing it.

"Why do these things keep happening to Harry?" James muttered. It was a stupid question, he knew, and one that no one, not even Dumbledore, could ever hope to answer.

"Because he's the one Voldemort chose," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. James' head popped up. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting Dumbledore to say, but it wasn't that. "Sometimes there is no reason why, and searching for it will only fill your heart with bitterness."

"So, how do we stop it?" Sirius asked.

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "I don't know, Sirius, although I have a few guesses."

"Well, it's been my experience that your guesses are usually right," Sirius said.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "At the moment, I think he has rather enough to be getting on with, but once the tournament is over, I believe we should have him take Occlumency lessons."

"Occlumency lessons?" James repeated. "You want him to use Occlumency _against Lord Voldemort_? Isn't he supposed to be the greatest legilimens who ever lived?"

"Second greatest," Dumbledore corrected.

"After you?"

Dumbledore thought a moment. "Third, then."

"Who's the other?"

Dumbledore gave one of his mysterious smiles. "Someone on our side, thank goodness."

James shook his head. "I have no talent for Occlumency. I can't teach him that."

"I will teach him, beginning this summer. We shall let him focus on the third task, and when it is finished, we shall begin arming him."

"Arming him," James echoed. He didn't like the sound of that.

"I don't like it, either, James," Dumbledore said sadly. "But we would be remiss in our responsibilities to him if we tried to pretend there are no threats against him."

James gave a tiny nod, wishing his old mentor's words were not true and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were.

"Are you sure about this?" Sirius asked when he and James were back in the Astronomy tower.

"About the Occlumency?" James clarified. Sirius nodded. "No, I'm not sure about it at all, but if Dumbledore thinks it will work..."

"Are you sure that Dumbledore... well, never mind."

James narrowed his eyes. "No, what? What were you going to say?"

Sirius sat next to James on the sofa, his breathing shuddered. "Well, it's not that I want to say I don't trust Dumbledore, because I do, but haven't you ever noticed that he has sort of a history of... well... using people?"

James' only response was a look of utter disbelief.

"Do you remember the day Gideon and Fabian Prewitt died?"

James nodded. He had not been there when they were ambushed, but Sirius had. He alone had escaped with his life and had nearly died bringing their bodies back to the Order headquarters so that Molly and their parents would have something to bury.

"I still remember it like it was yesterday. I can still remember how angry I was that day. Furious that my friends were gone. Everyone at the Order headquarters sat in tears, except for Dumbledore, and do you know what he said to me?"

James shook his head.

"It's for the greater good. Like they were some sort of sacrifice."

James nodded. "He said the same thing to me when Zacchaeus Bones died. I don't think it means he was sacrificing people, though. It only means their deaths weren't in vain. They died for something worth dying for."

"Perhaps," Sirius allowed. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "And I know he fretted and mourned over every loss. I wouldn't have traded places with him for anything, but... well... Only I don't want him deciding that Harry should be one of the people to sacrifice for the greater good."

"Harry has already sacrificed for the greater good," James noted bitterly.

Sirius nodded. "Yes. He's done quite enough already. Do you realize he's faced Voldemort three times and survived?"

"Same as Lily," James whispered.

"Same as you," Sirius added.

"And the fourth time, she died." James' breath caught in his throat at the words.

"No one has ever managed to survive a fourth encounter."

James raked his hands through his hair. "I trust Dumbledore," he said definitively.

"I trust him, too," Sirius said. "But I understand that his goal is to defeat Voldemort, not to keep Harry safe."

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath, lifting his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Fair enough," Sirius agreed. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"Maybe you're right," James snapped.

"James," Sirius pleaded. He'd heard his friend use that tone enough to know it boded nothing good.

James sighed, throwing himself back against the sofa. "I do not for one moment believe that Dumbledore will let harm come to Harry. I can't. I just... I can't. I mean, if we can't trust Dumbledore, who can we trust?"

Sirius shrugged. "We can trust each other. We can trust Remus. And Molly and Arthur. We trust the people who love Harry more than they fear Voldemort."

James shook his head, as though he could somehow rid himself of his demons that way. "You don't think Dumbledore does?"

Sirius shrugged. "Who can tell with him?"

Two weeks later, Harry sat in Potions, struggling to stay awake. He'd hardly slept since his nightmare, and when he did, he saw snatches of things he wished he hadn't. It had finally caught up with him today.

Snape's lectures were usually riveting - not because he was a particularly exciting lecturer, but because everyone was so terrified of him they didn't dare give him an excuse to notice them. With the occasional exception of Malfoy, who had mastered the art of causing trouble when Snape's back was turned, everyone sat hunched over their parchment with quills scribbling as they attempted to take down his every word. Today, he was lecturing on the uses of powdered root of asphodel in potion-making. Harry recalled from his first day in class that it was mixed with wormwood to make draught of the living death. Beyond that he knew very little about it.

Harry didn't hate Potions inherently. He actually found them quite interesting when taught by someone other than Snape. When Remus had been teaching him, he found he had a talent for them, and still felt proud over the way Remus had beamed at him and told him his mother was a gifted potion-maker as well. It seemed unfair, really, that he should be so awful at it under Snape's tutelage.

"Asphodel is a member of the lily family," Snape was saying. He glared at Harry as he said it, and Harry tried to look awake, sitting up straighter.

"Potter! What other potions ingredients come from the lily family?"

Harry thought for a moment, his mind drawing a blank. "Erm, lilies?"

Snape scowled. "As always, Potter, your ignorance is astounding. I'm amazed you can work out how to get out of bed in the morning. Five points from Gryffindor."

Harry felt his face growing hot, but he bit back his retort. He couldn't bear another detention. Not tonight. Tonight he'd have to sleep; he wondered if he could ask Sirius for a sleeping potion. Probably not, he decided. Sirius would want to know why he needed it, and he didn't want to admit to his continued dreams. He'd ask Madame Pomfrey, he decided. She never asked too many questions. As Snape droned on about the properties of the asphodel, he felt his eyelids growing heavy.

"The asphodel has always been connected with death and is one of the main ingredients in many poisons..."

Harry wished Snape would shut up so he could sleep. Perhaps he'd skive off his classes after lunch and take a nap. He was sure Hermione would understand. She'd been shooting him funny looks all day. Ron had told her about the dreaming, no doubt.

"The plants must be picked at the full moon for fullest potency..."

Silly for everyone to be worried over that. They were only dreams, even if he had sicked up. The room was so cold. Harry rummaged in his bag as silently as he could, searching for his cloak. Bother, he'd left it in his dormitory. He'd have to go up and get it before Herbology that afternoon. It was still chilly out, after all. He rubbed his arms and tried once again to focus on Snape.

"If they are picked at the new moon, they can still be used as..."

A bug buzzed somewhere nearby. Harry was amazed it could fly in this cold. He could see his breath in the air. And suddenly he realized the room was changing, fading. He wasn't in the Potions classroom any longer, but in another dungeon-like room. Dementors hovered nearby. Harry called uo a vision of Ginny's hair shining in the sunlight and cast his patronus, but nothing happened. He looked around in a panic and saw the back of a blond-haired man, a blanketed bundle in his arms. Beyond him, casks of wine sat aging on the shelves and Harry realized where he was. This was someone's wine cellar. The blond man's, he supposed.

"He can promise you all the souls you want," the man was saying.

There was something familiar about the man, even though Harry had never seen his face. Something about his voice that jarred something in Harry's memory, but he couldn't quite place where he might have heard it before.

The dementor hissed. That was its language, Harry supposed. In any event, the man seemed to understand it. "Of course not. You have the same desires as my master. You are his natural allies. When he rises, Azkaban will fall, and you will be free. The ministry are fools to think they can keep such powerful beings locked away."

The dementor drew a rattling breath and inclined its head as though nodding as it let out another hiss.

"Excellent," the man said. "Our plans are coming together."

The dementor turned toward Harry suddenly, gasping in air as though it sensed his presence. Harry backed away as quickly as he could, flattening himself against the wall and telling himself it was only a dream; that he wasn't really in a wine cellar with dementors; that it was only his imagination that the air suddenly grew colder; that he didn't truly hear a familiar scream in the edges of his mind.

The man turned, too, his face confused, then suspicious, and for one brief, terrifying moment, he and Harry locked eyes. Then the pain felt as though it would rip his brain apart.

Harry awoke to the sound of a loud crash as Snape slammed his hand on the table next to Harry's head. He started so violently his chair tipped. His yelped as his head banged hard on the floor, and he was almost glad for it, once the stars had stopped flashing in his eyes. At least this way, he'd have an excuse for his head to hurt. If everyone panicked over his dream a few weeks before, he didn't even want to imagine what they'd do about this one.

Harry still shivered violently. Snape seemed not to notice as he bore down on him. "Am I boring you Potter?"

"I th-think I'm s-sick," Harry stuttered, wishing he could warm up. No one else was shivering like this. Ron and Hermione were staring at him, their eyes wide. He wished he had some chocolate.

"Do you think me an idiot, Potter?"

Harry stood, straightening his chair. It was difficult not to respond to such a clear invitation.

"Answer me, Potter!"

"You won't like my answer," Harry snapped. He closed his eyes and put the back of his hand to his scar, wincing slightly. His head was pounding, and he could feel a knot rising up where he'd hit the ground. The coolness of his clammy skin felt good against his forehead.

"Detention, Potter!" Harry sighed. He wasn't surprised. "For the next week!" Snape added triumphantly.

"A week!" Harry protested.

"Yes, a week."

"But it isn't my fault! I told you, I think I'm sick!"

"I'm not falling for that, Potter. It's high time you learned some respect!"

Harry's scar seared painfully, and he bit down a wave of nausea, feeling far more annoyed than the situation truly warranted. "And it's high time you learned that respect is earned, not demanded!"

The entire class froze as Snape's face contorted. Hermione winced. Ron bit down a smile.

"Excuse me," a small voice said from the doorway. Everyone turned in one fluid motion, glad for the distraction that would hopefully keep their professor from exploding. The voice belonged to a very frightened-looking second-year Ravenclaw with curly brown hair.

"What do you want?" Snape demanded in a voice that was soft but scathing in its fury.

"Erm, I've been sent, sir. For Potter. He's supposed to come to the quidditch pitch."

"Potter is busy at the moment."

"But Professor Dumbledore said, sir. I'm... I'm sorry, sir." The girl made a small squeak, as though afraid she would spontaneously combust under Snape's glare. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she did. Nonetheless, he packed his bag quickly. He had been at Hogwarts long enough to know that invoking the name of Dumbledore was his ticket to freedom.

"Sorry Professor," Harry said, trying and failing to make look as though he were actually sorry. "Dumbledore said." Then he fled the dungeon before Snape could say another word. He'd pay for it later, he was sure. Snape had him for the next week in detention, after all, but every once in a while, it was worth it. It occurred to Harry very suddenly that Snape had never managed to get around to telling him what time to report to detention. Probably seven o'clock. It was always seven o'clock, it seemed. He briefly considered not showing up and using the excuse of not knowing the time. He quickly decided against it; he'd pushed Snape enough for one day. He was beginning to see what his father said about it being fun to set the old bat off. He was so very predictable.

Harry followed the Ravenclaw girl, who kept shooting him surreptitious glances out of the corner of her eye.

"Where are we going?"

The girl looked at Harry timidly, and he thought he heard another tiny squeak before she forced out. "The quidditch pitch." She began to blush brightly.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry tried. "What's your name?" The girl stared at him and mumbled something incomprehensible before she burst into tears and ran into the nearest girls' bathroom. Harry stood in the corridor for a few moments, nonplussed. He still didn't understand girls. Well, except for Hermione and Ginny... most of the time, anyway.

Harry took himself to the quidditch pitch, glad to have his feet on the familiar path once more. He hadn't really realized how much he missed it until he stepped outside and turned toward it. The air was chilly, but the sun shined brightly and warmed Harry, forcing away the last vestiges of his dream. He still planned to get himself some chocolate as soon as he could, but at least he knew it wasn't so cold out he needed to return to Gryffindor tower for his cloak. The seventh floor was a long way up, after all. He occasionally wondered what the founders had been thinking, building such a massive castle. Unless it was a stealthy way to force medieval teenagers to exercise.

When Harry arrived at the quidditch pitch, he stopped short, gaping at it. The stands still stood, but it was otherwise unrecognizable. The goals were gone, and the pitch itself was covered in zig-zagging hedges that came to Harry's knees.

"Ah, Harry. Yeh're finally here!" Harry had hardly noticed Hagrid and the other champions standing off to the side of the pitch. The champions were all staring at the hedges as though expecting them to come to life and attack.

Harry made his way over, not sure what to make of the mess that had once been his heaven.

Harry and Cedric shared a brief nod. Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors usually got on well together, but tensions had been running high since Halloween. The fact that Cedric and Harry were now tied wasn't helping. Harry would have thought both houses could be proud that the Hogwarts champions were sharing the lead, but alas. It was not to be. The Slytherins in particular could hardly contain their glee that Harry Potter, golden boy of Gryffindor, had finally lost his standing amongst the rest of the school.

Harry's temper flared just thinking about it; it wasn't as if he'd been that popular to begin with. Every time the slightest thing went wrong at Hogwarts, everyone fell all over themselves to blame it on him, it seemed. He could still remember the glares and whispers that followed him everywhere his second year when the whole school thought he was setting monsters on students. For someone who was supposed to be hailed as the savior of the wizarding world, he sure did spend an awful lot of time trying to convince everyone he wasn't a criminal.

Fred and George said the Slytherins were just jealous that none of their lot had worked out how to get their name into the Goblet of Fire, but Harry just rolled his eyes. He'd long since given up trying to convince those two that he hadn't put his name in.

"For the third task, yeh'll have to find yer way through this maze," Hagrid began.

Harry looked again and saw that the hodge-podge of hedges did seem to form a path. He wondered if it would be possible to come out here and memorize the design, but quickly decided that would be impractical.

"But it won' be easy," Hagrid warned. "The maze will be filled with beasts and spells. Yeh'll have to prove yeh can fight yer way through."

Of course it would be filled with monsters and spells, Harry though to himself. When did he ever have a challenge that _didn't_ include monsters hanging about and trying to eat him?

"The tournament trophy will be at the center of the maze. The firs' one teh get teh it will be the winner. Yeh'll be allowed in based on yer points, so Harry and Cedric will be first, followed by Mr. Krum, and Miss Delacour."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fleur nod sadly. She still had not forgiven herself for failing to save her sister.

"Oh! And there'll be teachers patrollin' the edges of the maze, so yeh'll all be perfectly safe."

Harry was not entirely confident in a teacher's ability to navigate the maze quickly enough to save him should a monster get him in its jaws, but he decided not to say it out loud. Instead he looked at the faces of the other champions and was slightly heartened to see that they all looked as nervous as he felt.

Harry took one last look at the maze as Hagrid dismissed them. He could see a group of first-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws pouring out of the greenhouses. He smiled. That meant he wouldn't have to go back to Potions.

Harry hurried to the Great Hall to tell Ron and Hermione about the third task. When he arrived he spotted them, sitting halfway down the Gryffindor table with Ginny. It still amazed Harry the way his heart flip-flopped in his chest whenever he saw her. Fred and George were sitting alone at the end of the table, their heads close together as they whispered.

"But, Fred, that's blackmail!" Harry heard George say as he passed. He was momentarily glad Ron wasn't with him. If he were, he'd have wanted to ask a million questions, and Harry had learned that it was best to leave things alone where Fred and George were concerned. Plausible deniability was more precious that jewels if one were going to survive being their friend.

Harry sat down and helped himself to a chocolate biscuit. He'd grown so used to the cold he hadn't even realized he still felt it until the warmth of the chocolate crept into his fingers and toes.

"Harry, what happened in Potions?" Hermione asked. "Did you have one of those dreams again?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "I just fell asleep, that's all."

"But you had your hand on your scar," Hermione said skeptically. "And you were shivering like mad. Harry, if you're still having those dreams, you should tell someone. Sirius or your dad or Dumbledore or... someone."

"But I didn't, Hermione. I promise. My head was hurting, but that's only because I hit it when I fell. And I was shivering because it was bloody cold down there."

"But Harry," Hermione continued.

"Leave him alone, Hermione," Ron snapped. "He says he didn't have a dream, and Harry wouldn't lie to us."

Guilt and gratitude simultaneously flooded Harry's gut. Maybe he should mention the new dream to Sirius, he thought. Only he was so tired of everyone making a fuss over him. He decided to think about it later and distracted himself by telling his friends about the third task.

"That doesn't sound too awful," Hermione said when he had finished.

"But the teachers won't be able to see what's going on in there," Ron added. "You'll be at the mercy of whatever's in there... or whoever's in there."

Ginny slipped her hand inside Harry's just as Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron. "And just what is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Hermione. You don't really believe that someone from _Durmstrang_ is going to play fair if the teachers aren't watching, do you?"

"He played fair in the lake, Ronald Weasley! And I'll have you know that Viktor is a very good sportsman. He wouldn't cheat if his life depended on it! Unlike you!"

Hermione stood and stomped off to sit with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

"You're a dunderhead," Ginny told her brother frankly. Harry said nothing, though he was inclined to agree.

"Well, at least I'm not fraternizing with the enemy," Ron groused. "At least I know whose side I'm on."

Ginny shook her head, a look of purest disbelief on her face as Harry pretended to be hopelessly absorbed in his ham sandwich. He thought it his best chance at not being pulled into his friends' quarrel. He suddenly began to understand why Sirius protested so much when he ended up caught in between Harry and James. It was certainly a miserable place to be.

"Hey, Ron, you want my pickle?" Ginny asked suddenly after their argument had been going on for a few minutes. Ron didn't need to be asked twice. He reached across the table and grabbed it, taking a bite so large Harry was sure he'd choke.

"Thanks, Gin," he muttered. And just like that, the tension evaporated. Harry wished things with Hermione could be so easy.


	30. Preparations and Protections

"Point me," Harry whispered. The spell was was supposed to make his wand point north, and the wand whipped around, pulling him with it.

"Perfect!" Sirius cried, clapping. "You're doing so well, Harry! That trophy is as good as yours!"

Harry beamed with pride. "Now let's try the reductor curse." Sirius looked around his quarters. "We probably shouldn't try that one in here, though. Let's go to the Astronomy Classroom. I've never liked that statue of Galileo in the corner. He looks like he's about two seconds away from messing his pants."

Harry laughed. He'd never be able to look at that statue the same way again. Of course, if he managed to master the reductor curse, he'd never have to.

"Maybe he was," Harry suggested.

Sirius threw his head back and laughed his hearty laugh. Harry loved the sound of that laugh; he never could resist joining in. He followed Sirius along the familiar corridor to the Astronomy Classroom.

"Okay, you move your wand in a slashing motion, like so. Pretend you've got a sword and you're facing an invisible enemy. You're trying to go from his shoulder to his hip." Sirius modeled the motion a few times until Harry had it right.

"Good, now the incantation is 'reducto'. Only be careful to only aim for Galileo. It's a powerful curse, and I'm rather fond of everything else in here."

Harry took a deep breath. He tried to envision Voldemort standing before him, or perhaps the blond man. "Reducto!" he cried, slashing at his invisible enemy.

Nothing happened. Harry's shoulders sagged.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Harry. These aren't easy spells. You get discouraged far too easily."

"I can't help it," Harry grumbled. "How would you feel if the whole school was just waiting to see you fail?"

"Oh, Harry," Sirius drawled. He put an arm around his godson and pulled him close. "Listen to me. You are going to be wonderful, whether you win, whether you don't win. You should be proud of yourself that you got this far. The other students... all of that will blow over. No one will remember it anymore as soon as the task is done."

Harry nodded sadly. He didn't believe that for one moment.

Sirius put a hand beneath Harry's chin and pulled his face upward. "Harry, I mean it. It doesn't matter if you win or lose. The important thing is for you to be safe."

Harry rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing that.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, kid," Sirius said with a smile. "I meant what I said about thinking you can win this, but look at me Harry, this is important. A win doesn't mean anything if you're hurt too badly to enjoy it. I know you know by now that this is no game. You have to be careful."

Harry nodded, to shut Sirius up more than anything else, really.

Sirius' quirked his lip. "You wouldn't be agreeing with me to get me off your case, would you?"

Harry smiled a wry smile. "I would never do such a thing."

Sirius pasted on his best stern look. "You forget, I know all the tricks."

"I know, Sirius. And I won't take any unnecessary risks. I promise." He wouldn't have to. All the risks would be lying in wait for him.

Sirius pulled him close once more and planted a kiss atop his head. "See that you don't. Now come on, let's try this spell again."

Harry tried again, slashing his wand just as Sirius showed him. This time, a flash of blue light hit Galileo's nose and shattered it.

"That was fantastic! Now you've just got to get a little more power behind it." After three more tries, Galileo was no more.

"Well, I think we can safely say he's gone to meet his maker," Sirius said, shaking plaster dust out of his hair. Sirius conjured a new statue for Harry to blow to smithereens. After a few more tries, Harry began to suspect he was just doing it so Harry could make a bigger mess, but after the fifth statue disappeared into a pile of dust, Sirius declared Harry an expert at the reductor curse.

"Just remember, it would be cheating to blast your way through the hedges," Sirius said with a wink. "And we can't have any cheating."

"No, of course not," Harry agreed gravely. "No one would ever cheat in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Quite," Sirius said. "Now, let's work on a shield charm."

"Sirius, I'm getting tired," Harry said. "Blowing things up is hard work."

Sirius reached out and pushed a lock of hair out of Harry's eyes. "Still not sleeping?"

Harry's head shot up.

"Hermione told me," Sirius allowed. "She said you're still having nightmares, and that you had one in Potions last week."

"I didn't. I just... I..."

Sirius lifted an eyebrow and said in a soft, sad voice, "Please don't lie to me, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Do you promise not to make a big thing of it?"

Sirius scratched his head. "I can't really promise that until I know how bad it is."

"Not too bad. I haven't really had any more since the one in Potions."

Sirius sat on a nearby desk, planting his feet on the chair. "Tell me about it."

Harry sat across from him and told him about the dementors in the wine cellar. Sirius grew increasingly pale as he listened. "Dementors away from Azkaban is bad news, Harry. We have to tell Dumbledore."

"No, Sirius! I'm tired of having everyone fret over me!"

"Harry, these are more than just dreams."

"I don't care, Sirius! I don't want everyone making a fuss."

"Harry," Sirius said in the disgustingly patient voice he used for such occasions.

"No, Sirius!" Harry shouted, not sure where the sudden anger had come from, except that he hadn't slept well in weeks.

"You'll want to stop shouting at me," Sirius said calmly. "I'm on your side, here."

"No, you're not! If you were on my side, you'd leave me alone!"

"Harry, if I were not on your side, I would not be teaching you N.E.W.T. level curses and trying to keep you alive."

Harry closed his eyes, and his head swam. He had hardly realized how tired he was. "I'm sorry," he said after a long pause. "I didn't mean to shout."

Sirius brushed a finger against his cheek. "You're exhausted, kid. I can tell by looking at you. I'm going to give you a sleeping potion for tonight, and I want you to take it. No protesting. I'll force it down your throat if you have to. And if you have any more trouble sleeping, I want you to come to me. You need to be rested for the final task. Understand?"

Harry nodded. "You're not going to tell my dad, are you?"

"I sort of already did," Sirius admitted.

Harry let out a sound of frustration. "Sirius!"

"What? He's your dad. Believe it or not, that means he needs to know these things. Why don't you want him to know?"

Harry sighed. "He treats me like a baby. Like a dream is the end of the world."

"I thought we had already established that these are more than just dreams?"

Harry glared at him and launched into a tirade that Sirius knew full well was about much more than dreams. He moved quickly from subject to subject, pacing agitatedly about the classroom. He spoke of Snape's increased ire toward him, and the pressure of the third task. He spoke of fearing he'd make a fool of himself in front of the whole school, in front of the Gryffindors who had put so much faith in him, and especially in front of Ginny. He admitted he'd barely slept in the last few weeks - that the dreams and his prickling scar had been keeping him awake nights. He ranted about constant teasing from the Slytherins and how the Hufflepuffs were hardly speaking to him except, ironically, for Cedric Diggory, who was the only person, in Harry's opinion, who had anything to be upset about. When he finished, he plopped down at a desk and threw his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead with two fingers. "It's just not fair, Sirius!" he finished lamely.

Sirius listened to the ranting impassively. He had learned young that the best thing to do was let these things run their course; any attempt to stop it would just anger Harry more. At least Harry would eventually burn himself out, Sirius knew. Just like his father, his temper was mostly harmless bluster. Sirius had grown up with a man whose temper was dangerous and knew how to tell the difference between boiling frustration and true rage.

If Sirius was surprised that Harry said nothing about the danger he himself faced, he didn't show it. The danger wasn't real to Harry yet; he was young and thought himself invincible. Sirius had felt that way once; like nothing bad could ever happen to him; like the universe or God or whatever else was out there was somehow taking care of him. Especially after he escaped from his parents. He almost felt that the cosmos owed him after forcing him to grow up in such a miserable family. He realized now, of course, that it wasn't so. He'd seen too much death visit too many good people. He knew full well that bad things could and would happen. Even to Harry. Especially to Harry, it too often seemed.

"You know, sometimes I think we do our children a disservice when we teach them that things are supposed to be fair. They're not. Life isn't fair or logical or just. It just... is. So no, Harry, this isn't fair. Nothing about it is fair, but it still has to be faced."

"It still has to be survived," Sirius thought to himself, but he did not give voice to the thought.

Harry looked up, anxiety etched across his face. "I'm scared, Sirius," he whispered.

Sirius knew how difficult that confession must have been for Harry, and he wished he knew what to say to make Harry's fears fade away. "I know," he finally said. "It'll be all right."

"But I'm not supposed to be scared," Harry stated, and Sirius had the sudden feeling that he'd finally found the crux of the problem. "I'm a Gryffindor. I'm supposed to be brave!"

"Harry, being brave doesn't mean not being scared. Being brave means doing what you must despite being scared. You've been very brave. You faced down a dragon. You jumped into a freezing cold lake. You've got so much courage it's practically pouring out your ears. You're braver than anyone I think I've ever met, and I am so proud of you it damn near hurts. And so is your dad, and all the teachers, except for Snape, who doesn't count. And Dumbledore. And Remus. We're all amazed by your bravery."

"I don't feel very brave," Harry mumbled, his cheeks turning slightly pink over so much praise.

Sirius thought on that a moment. "I think perhaps courage is something you only see in retrospect. Or maybe even something others see that you can't. In the heat of the moment, you're not thinking, 'I'm going to be terribly brave now and everyone will love me for it.' No, you only do what you must to survive, or to protect the people around you. That's what true courage is; it's loving other people more than you love yourself. And you've got that in spades, kid. You might even have too much of it."

Harry gave a weak smile, and Sirius sighed. "Come on, Harry. Come to my quarters with me. I'll make you some tea."

"I don't want tea," Harry muttered.

"Cocoa, then," Sirius amended, not to be deterred.

Harry couldn't say no to that. Sirius made the best cocoa he'd ever tasted. "It's your grandmother's recipe," Sirius said with a wink when they were seated at his table and Harry had voiced his opinion of the cocoa aloud.

"Really?" Harry asked. "I wonder why Dad never makes it?"

"He hasn't got the patience. He always ends up burning it. He's good at quite a lot, your dad, but patience is not his forte."

"Mine either," Harry said ruefully.

"You've got more of it than he has, if you can believe it," Sirius said with a wry smile.

Harry only smiled and sipped his cocoa in response. Sirius steered the conversation toward quidditch, which always cheered Harry up.

"Okay, I want to try shield charms," Harry said suddenly when he'd finished his drink.

"No, I think that's enough for today, Harry," Sirius decreed.

"But I want to try!" Harry protested.

"Harry, you're exhausted. Shield charms are difficult. Take a sleeping draught tonight, and we'll try it again when you're well rested."

"But there's still hours before dinner. We could get so much done! I promise I'll take the stupid sleeping draught tonight if you'll let me try shield charms now."

Sirius sighed, but Harry could tell by the look on his face that he was relenting.

"All right, but after that we're calling it a day. Don't think I don't know that you've still got a detention to serve tonight."

Harry grimaced. "That was completely unfair."

"Well, what did you expect to happen? And I'll have you know I had to hear about. 'Respect is earned not demanded.' I'd have given you detention, too, if you'd said that to me."

"You wouldn't have, either," Harry accused. "And besides, it's true. Respect is earned."

Sirius reached out to tousle Harry's hair before pulling him into a headlock. "But that doesn't mean you say it to a teacher, you nutter!"

"But if it's true..." Harry continued, twisting out of Sirius' grasp.

"You're mental, you are," Sirius said. Harry thought he heard a touch of pride in his tone.

Sirius decided they should go to the Astronomy tower for shield charms. They'd need the space, he said. Harry sloped to the edge and looked over. "What is that?" he asked.

"What is what?" Sirius replied, coming over.

"That looks like Malfoy! But what's he doing?"

They stood for a moment and watched. Malfoy stood perfectly still next to the lake, whispering into his hand.

"It sort of reminds me of muggle walkie talkies. Scott Andrews brought a couple to school once. He let everyone play with them at recess. Except for me."

Sirius scowled. "I still don't understand what your dad was so upset about that day you turned him into a dog."

Harry gave a small laugh. "I don't think he minded about that part. I think he was upset because I stole his wand."

"Still," Sirius grumbled. "Little berk deserved it, if you ask me."

"So you wouldn't have minded if I'd stolen your wand?" Harry asked.

Sirius stared blankly at him for a moment. "Well, I think it's time we started to practice."

Harry laughed at the sudden change of subject. He'd learned by now that that meant he'd won the argument.

"The incantation is 'protego'," Sirius said when they had taken their places on opposite sides of the tower. "I'm going to hit you with hair color changing spells. I'll give Gryffindor ten points if you can manage to master the spell before I've painted a rainbow on your head."

"And what if I can't?"

"Then you'll have to come up with a way to explain to Snape why you've come to detention with rainbow-colored hair."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't!"

Sirius pointed his wand at Harry's head. A flash of red light shot out and hit Harry in the face. "I wasn't ready!" Harry protested.

"Do you think Death Eaters will wait until you're ready?" He pointed his wand again and, this time, an orange spray of light came out of it.

"Protego," Harry shouted, a split second too late. By the time they'd finished, Harry had improved, but he still ended up with rainbow hair. He tried to convince Sirius to change it back, but he wouldn't relent. By the time he got to the dungeons, however, he found that it had faded on its own.

* * *

The day before the third task, Sirius and Remus met James for breakfast. They found him sitting in the breakfast nook at his house, ripping a copy of the Daily Prophet to shreds.

"That... foul... woman... wouldn't... know... the... truth... if... it... slapped... her... in... the... face... with... a... herring!"

"A herring?" Sirius asked.

James shrugged. "It was the best I could come up with on short notice."

"Yes, but a herring?" Sirius repeated. "Who slaps people in the face with a herring?"

"Who writes lies and passes it off as news?" James countered.

"Dare I ask what she wrote this time?" Remus asked.

James looked at the pieces of the Daily Prophet, littering the floor like confetti. "She wrote a piece entitled, 'The Real Harry Potter'. She claims he's a delinquent. He disrespects his professors, disrupts classes, and sneaks around at night while Dumbledore turns a blind eye. Okay, that last part may be true, but he isn't a delinquent! She's got quotes in there from kids who don't even know him saying they're frightened of him and that he's a show-off. She talked to Draco Malfoy, if you can believe it! It's ridiculous. Imagine how he's going to feel when he sees it. As if he hasn't got enough on his mind. Merlin's beard! If I weren't against murder on principle, I think I'd consider killing that woman!"

"I don't think anyone would blame you," Remus put in.

"Scrimgeour might," James said glumly. "He really frowns on aurors killing people. There's quite a lot of paperwork involved."

"That's bureaucracy for you," Sirius said, shaking his head sadly. "It takes all the fun out of anything worth doing."

"Maybe Harry won't see it," Remus hoped.

"I doubt it," Sirius said. "Hermione took out a subscription to the Prophet after Skeeter's last story came out. I can find out for you."

"No, I was already planning to rescue him today and take him to Hogsmeade. Try to take his mind off tomorrow," James said with a small sigh.

"He'll be fine," Sirius assured him. "I've been working with him, and he's well prepared. I taught him every defensive spell I know. He knows the shield charm, two different blasting curses, expelliarmus, diffindo, a gouging charm, the firepower charm, and everything else I could think of that would help him. Besides that, teachers will be all over the place, and Moody can see through the hedges."

James nodded. "Yeah." He ran his hands through his hair, leaving them atop his head. His arms formed a little cage in front of his face. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and closed his eyes against the worry he felt. "But what if it isn't fine?" he whispered.

"It will be," Remus said softly.

"I might just put myself under a disillusionment charm and follow him around in there," Sirius added. "I have no intention of letting anything happen to him. Not while there's still breath in my body."

James nodded. Knowing Sirius and Moody would be around did make him feel a little better. "Whoever put his name in the Goblet only has one more chance to do whatever it is they're going to do," James moaned. "Is this madness? Should I just pull him out of school and take him to Siberia?"

"You know you can't, James," Sirius said, his voice soft and comforting. He put a hand on James' shoulder. "He won't get hurt. We're going to make sure he doesn't."

James nodded, not lifting his head. "Yeah," he mumbled, but a hard knot of fear still sat in his stomach. He'd been fighting the panic that now threatened to overwhelm him ever since the relief from Harry's victory in the second task wore off. So far, he'd been winning the battle, but today he was losing spectacularly. The thought of all the monsters Harry might face tomorrow terrified him. He couldn't even bear to think the worst. He'd taken to sitting in Harry's room the last few days, breathing in Harry's scent, and fighting the terror and premature grief that had him in its spiny grasp. He tried not to imagine himself going in there tomorrow knowing that Harry would never return. Just the thought put a lump in his throat and a sting in his eyes.

"Come on, we have to get you out of here," Sirius said suddenly. "We'll go to Hogwarts and liberate Harry and then we'll go to the Three Broomsticks. I'm not taking no for an answer."

James rose willingly, thankful once again that his friends were with him. And when Harry appeared in the Entrance Hall, James' lips twisted into the first genuine smile they had known in days.

Harry rushed forward to wrap his arms around his dad, not caring that someone might see. James returned the embrace, praying to whatever gods were listening that it wouldn't be the last time he held his child in his arms.


	31. The Third Task

Harry awoke early the morning of the third task. He'd slept like the dead, thanks to Sirius' sleeping draught. He'd been drinking them nearly every night in an effort to stop the dreams that had been haunting him. He'd missed two nights - once because he forgot, and one because he stayed up half the night with Ron and Hermione discussing Malfoy's mysterious conversation with his own hand. The night he forgot was filled with dreams of a neglected graveyard with overgrown headstones and ivy-covered trees. He awoke in the night, heart pounding and scar burning and debated waking Sirius or perhaps his father, but quickly decided against it. He still didn't want to believe that the dreams were anything more than anxiety-induced night terrors that would end once the third task was safely behind him. Besides, he wasn't a baby who needed to wake his father every time he had a bad dream.

The night he stayed up talking, he had Astronomy the next day and, despite the fact that he napped before class and fought to look alert, Sirius still ferreted him out. Harry never could understand how Sirius could do that. Then he threatened to tip the potions down Harry's throat if he wouldn't take them on his own. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Sirius would never really do it, but he got the message all the same.

Harry sighed as he attempted to comb his hair. He was still sure that what he had seen on the Astronomy tower that day had something to do with Rita Skeeter and how she was managing to interview Slytherins and overhear conversations she couldn't possibly have been present for. Hermione swore that he couldn't have been speaking into a walkie-talkie because electronic devices wouldn't work at Hogwarts. Harry decided to ask his dad about it when he saw him. It would take his mind of the task at hand for a few minutes, at least.

When it came time to go to the quidditch pitch, Harry's stomach felt as though it had fish swimming around inside it. He hadn't been able to eat much at lunch - only a few bites of a ham sandwich and some crisps - but now even that threatened to come up. He tried to bite down his fear, telling himself that he'd come this far without anything terrible happening to him, but he couldn't get Sirius' and Dumbledore's and especially James' worried faces out of his mind.

James, Sirius, and Remus were sitting together on the first row of bleachers when Harry arrived with Ron and Hermione in tow. James rose quickly to greet Harry as he approached. Not far away, Cedric sat with his parents, smiling as they clearly doted on him.

James was glad he had come early, glad to have a few minutes with Harry before the start of the task. Harry talked rapidly, reciting the spells he knew and talking at length about Rita Skeeter and how she might be using something called a "walkie talkie" to communicate with Slytherins. After Harry explained what that was, James agreed with Hermione's insistence that it wasn't possible.

"Though she could be communicating with the Slytherins some other way," James said thoughtfully. "There are all sorts of ways to spy on a person magically, or communicate with someone over distances. Like our mirrors. Speaking of which, did you remember to bring yours?"

Harry nodded. James had told him to be sure to bring it.

James sighed deeply with relief and threw an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Good. Be sure to keep it on you, and if anything goes wrong, anything at all, you call me and I'll be there in ten seconds. Maybe less."

"Nothing is going to go wrong, James," Sirius said. "We've taken every precaution to ensure it doesn't. Moody went through the maze himself this morning and checked everything when he placed the trophy. Harry will be fine.

"Yeah," James agreed slowly. "Yeah, I know." But he tightened his grip around Harry's shoulders all the same.

Far too quickly for James, the bleachers around them began to fill and the champions were called to the dark opening of the maze.

Harry hugged his dad, Sirius, Remus, and then his dad again, squeezing James' neck tightly and finding that he didn't want to let go.

"Love you, champ," James whispered when he finally did.

"Love you, too, Dad," Harry said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "See you soon." He turned away, looking toward the opening of the maze and headed toward it.

"Yeah, soon," James said with a small smile. "And Harry!"

Harry turned back to his dad, glad to put off the task for a moment longer.

"Be careful," James said, his face pinched with worry. "If you come across something you can't fight, don't try. Just run. And don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it. If you can't get to your mirror, send up sparks or something, and I'll come for you."

"We're supposed to send up red sparks if we need to be rescued," Harry said softly. A whistle sounded. Harry turned to see that all the other champions were now waiting at the mouth of the maze. "I have to go."

James nodded. "Go on then. Be safe."

"I will," Harry promised.

"I love you!" James called after him. He'd said it only ten seconds before, but he reckoned it couldn't hurt Harry to hear it again.

"You, too!" Harry called back over his shoulder, and then he began to trot toward the others.

"What do you reckon is in there?" James asked.

"Nothing that will kill him," Sirius said reassuringly. At least not quickly, but Sirius decided to keep that part to himself. The less James knew the better, really. "I have to go. He'll be fine. Moody's going to look out for him specifically. Try not to worry. Maybe you should go to Hogsmeade and get a drink or something."

James shook his head. As tempting as the idea of drinking his worries away was - and it was - he needed to be present should Harry need him. Besides, he'd never been the type to drown his sorrows. Sirius wandered away and James saw him stop long enough to pat Harry on the shoulder and whisper something into his ear before he disappeared around a corner of the maze.

Then, in no time at all, Bagman was making announcements that James barely heard, and Harry and Cedric disappeared into the darkness beyond the eight-foot shrubberies.

Usually when James was nervous, he paced. Today, however, he could not, so he sat rigidly on the bleachers. "Aren't they finished yet?" he asked Remus.

"They just went inside half a minute ago, Prongs. The other two champions aren't even inside yet."

James closed his eyes, wishing he could travel into the future just long enough to assure himself that Harry really would be as fine as everyone kept telling him.

Meanwhile, Harry crept through the maze, his lit wand in front of him. Beside him, Cedric did the same, holding his wand in a death grip. They said nothing as they walked until the way ahead of them split. "See you later, then," Cedric said softly, and took off to the right. Harry stood still a moment as Cedric disappeared. He'd never felt so alone before - not in the chamber where he found the Philosopher's Stone, not in the Shrieking Shack, not even in the basilisk's lair.

Harry heard a rustling behind him and jerked around, holding his wand out at arm's length. Everything was draped in shadow despite the sun being high in the sky, but he could easily see that nothing was there. The mouth of the maze looked warm and bright and inviting, and he briefly wondered what would happen if he just quit. He wouldn't, he knew. He was a Gryffindor. He would damn well act like one. He turned toward the passage on the left and squared his shoulders. He would go forward and see what the maze had in store for him.

Harry and Sirius had discussed his strategy at length. He would use the point me spell to keep his bearings and remain on the right path. The center of the maze was northwest, so when Harry came to a split, he quickly found his direction and took it, hurrying along it. The maze was so silent as to be eerie, except for the occasional rustlings of wind making a mournful symphony as it breezed through the hedges. Twice, Harry swore he heard a twig snap up ahead of him and was sure he was about to face a monster, but no matter how closely he looked, nothing was ever there.

Harry heard a whistle sound just as he made a turn to the right. Viktor was now in the maze. Harry was starting to feel nervous about the fact that he hadn't met any monsters or challenges, just endless greenery. He was starting to fear that he was somehow going in circles, or that the maze was trying to lull him into a false sense of security. He hastily turned another corner and was hit by a horrid smell. Like gym socks that had been worn two weeks in a row. Up ahead a troll stood, scratching its head as it rested its club by its feet. It hadn't noticed Harry yet, but it had begin to sniff the air, so it was likely only a matter of time. Turning back would take him in the wrong direction, and there were no turns between Harry and the troll. He stepped forward just as the troll noticed him. It let out a roar and lumbered for him.

Harry told himself that it was just like first year and pointed his wand at the troll's club. The troll stopped suddenly, as though confused. It sniffed the air once more, torn between Harry and something that was clearly approaching on its other side. Harry took advantage of its momentary distraction to get his aim. When the club sailed out of its hand, it decided Harry was the better target and let out another roar, showing off jagged, broken teeth.

Harry used the club to hit the troll on the head, glad that no one was awarding points for creativity this time. He passed the troll quickly and waited to see if whatever had distracted it would round the corner up ahead of him. Several minutes passed and no one approached, but he did hear the whistle that told him Fleur was now in the maze. He rushed forward quickly, senses alert for whatever else might be waiting for him.

Harry inched forward and checked his direction. He was headed directly for the middle of the maze, but soon hit a dead end. He turned back, planning to turn left and then right again as soon as he could to get himself back on track when he heard a scream. Fleur, from the sound of it. A moment later, red sparks went up. Harry took a deep breath and tried not to think that there were only three champions left. Harry rushed onward.

He turned the next corner and stopped short. Cedric was staring down a flying snake, his wand out. He shot several spells at it, but none of them seemed to phase it. Harry ran to Cedric to help.

"It's an occamy, Harry! Stay away!"

"An occamy?" Harry repeated. He'd heard of them before, but couldn't think what it was.

"It thinks we're after its eggs." Cedric motioned toward a small nest on the ground full of silver balls that he assumed must be the eggs. Cedric leapt to the side as the flying snake struck. "Don't let it bite you. It's poisonous," Cedric warned.

"Of course it is," Harry muttered before dodging the occamy. "Watch it!" he snapped, not sure who he was talking to.

The occamy landed on stubby legs. "Leave my eggs alone," it hissed at Harry.

"Harry, you can talk to it!" Cedric exclaimed. "I forgot you're a parselmouth."

"We're not interested in your eggs," Harry told it.

"Liar!" the occamy shrieked. It opened its mouth and spit a stream of green liquid at Harry. He ducked to the side as the liquid splattered where his head had been only a moment before. The leaves of the hedges began to smoke where the stuff landed on them.

"It spits venom, too," Cedric whispered.

"I'd noticed," Harry replied. He turned back to the occamy. "We don't want to hurt you or your eggs. We just want to find the Triwizard Trophy."

"The gold?" the occamy asked. "I have seen the gold. It is not more beautiful than my eggs."

"No, you have beautiful eggs," Harry agreed.

The occamy hissed and spat at Harry and Cedric again. They both dodged, and Cedric tried to stupefy it. All he managed to do was anger it further.

"I don't think stupefy works, mate," Harry said.

"Nothing works," Cedric moaned. "I've tried everything I can think of."

Harry turned back to the occamy. "We won't hurt you if you let us pass. Do you know where the gold is?"

"It is close by," the occamy replied.

"May we pass? If we promise not to touch your eggs, may we pass?"

The occamy hissed at something behind Harry, and he turned to see Viktor approaching, standing painfully close to the silvery eggs.

"You lie! Thief! Egg-snatcher!" It lunged for Harry, mouth open wide, fangs sprung.

"Reducto!" Cedric yelled. The spell hit the occamy in the mouth and it flew threw the air, landing on the other side of the hedge. Harry could hear it thrashing about there, calling for its eggs.

"We should move. It won't take it long to come back," Harry said.

Harry helped Cedric to his feet. "Thanks," he mumbled. "I'd already tried that one, but I thought maybe if I hit it while it was in the air..." Harry only then noticed that Cedric looked much worse for the wear. His eyebrows had been singed and his robes were torn. A gash on his cheek was weeping blood.

"What happened to you?"

Cedric put a hand to his cheek. "It was one of Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts. I only just got away. Then I wasn't watching where I was going and stumbled onto the occamy and Hullo! Krum! What are you doing?"

Krum had come upon them as they spoke and now had his wand on Cedric. "Crucio!" he bellowed. Cedric fell to the ground, screaming.

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted. Krum crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Cedric lay on the ground, panting. Harry put a hand under him and helped him up.

"He seemed all right," Cedric said, glaring accusingly at Krum's unconscious form.

"We can't leave him here. That snake thing, the occamy, it might come back."

Cedric nodded and shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Right. We'll send up sparks." He set his wand toward the sky and sent up a shower of red flares. Then he looked at Harry. "Thanks for, well, everything."

Harry nodded.

"Well, see you." And Cedric took off again.

Harry rushed onward once more, hoping to get to the center of the maze without meeting any more monsters.

Harry took so many twists and turns he nearly lost track. He was starting to think he'd never make it to the center of the maze, and that even if he did, he'd never make it out again, when a creature Harry had only seen in his mind's eye stepped across his path.

It had the head and wings of an eagle and the body and tail of a lion. Brown feathers merged seamlessly with golden fur. It lifted its head and stared at Harry with intelligent eyes. Just beyond it, Harry could see the triwizard trophy. The griffin regarded him just long enough to emit an ear-splitting shriek and take to the air. Harry watched it circle and then dive, its razor-sharp claws fully extended. Harry rolled out of the way, and the griffin landed, hitting the rock upon which it had been resting hard enough to release sparks. It took to the sky again, and Harry stopped to watch it, awed by its beauty and grace. He briefly wondered if he could make a run for it while the thing was in the air, but quickly realized there would be no time. It was already coming in for its second swoop.

Harry ducked and its claws raked across his back. He yelped as he heard the sound of skin tearing and pain exploded through his back. He rushed to his feet and his head swam as his back throbbed. Sirius had taught him a spell to heal surface wounds, but he couldn't see it. He pointed his wand at his back the best he could and said the incantation. It felt better, but he could tell he had missed most of it. The pain was bearable now, though, and the griffin was coming back again. This time as it swooped, Harry cast a shield charm and it slammed into it, squawking angrily before it turned in the air for another assault.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled as it approached him. The spell hit it in mid-air and it fell to the ground with a painful thud. Harry winced. He almost hated to hurt something so beautiful. Then he moved a shoulder experimentally and winced again. He pointed his wand at his back and repeated Sirius' spell three more times before he was satisfied that his wound had been mostly mended. He turned toward the trophy, still sitting on its pedestal as though waiting for Harry to come and rescue it. He could easily see that the way was clear. He heard rustling behind him and decided to move quickly before the griffin awoke.

He was nearly to the trophy when he heard a triumphant shout and saw a shadow on his left. He turned to see Cedric sprinting toward the trophy. He was going to get there first. Suddenly a humongous spider stepped into his path and bore down on him. It snapped its jaws at him and he dodged quickly. Harry paused. While Cedric was fighting the spider, Harry could get the trophy. It was so close he could almost taste it. A vision entered his mind of himself holding the trophy high above his head as everyone cheered and Draco Malfoy looked on jealously.

The Cedric yelled. The spider had managed to get hold of his shoulder. Turning away from victory, Harry ran toward the spider, shooting the gouging spell Sirius had taught him at its abdomen. Four cuts quickly appeared as though put there by invisible claws. The spider screamed and turned away from Cedric, who melted into the ground.

The spider turned on Harry, its pincers working overtime as it envisioned how well it would eat tonight. Harry ran to Cedric and helped him to his feet. The spider approached, limping and dripping blood from its injured abdomen. It lunged at Harry, and Harry dodged as quickly as he could, though not quickly enough. The spider lifted him by the ankle, and he heard bones crunch. His father's mirror sailed out of his pocket and shattered on the ground, its tinkling sounding abnormally loud to Harry's ears.

"Diffindo!" Cedric yelled, and a gash appeared next to the spider's eye. It shook its head and flung Harry, who hit a nearby hedge before landing on the ground. Cedric ran to him.

"All right?"

Harry nodded, ignoring the buzzing in his ears.

"Let's try hitting it together," Cedric said, lifting Harry up. "Stupefy on three. One, two, three. Stupefy!"

"STUPEFY!" Harry yelled. As he watched, he swore he saw a third line of light coming from the other side of the little square in which they stood, but a moment later, he was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him. The spider rolled over, legs twitching for an instant, and then was still.

"I was stupid," Cedric muttered. "I came across a sphinx and had to solve the riddle. It tried to warn me, but I saw the trophy and ran for it."

Harry looked and saw that Cedric's shoulder was bloody and mangled. Then he looked at his own leg and saw that it wasn't much better. He wouldn't be able to walk on it. Sirius had taught him an incantation to shoot bandages out of his wand, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was beaten.

"Go on," Harry said. "The trophy is yours."

"I can't just leave you," Cedric replied. "You just saved me from the acromantula. I'd hate to think what would have happened if you hadn't come along."

"You saved me, too. If you hadn't warned me about the occamy, I'd have stumbled right into it. And besides, I can't walk on this leg. I'll send up sparks. Someone will come get me. You win."

"If you hadn't shown up I wouldn't have got past it, either."

"Well, the spider would have attacked me if you hadn't distracted it."

"I wouldn't have even got past the first task if it weren't for you."

"Someone else told me about that. So we're even."

"Let's both take it. Together," Cedric suggested. "It'll be a Hogwarts victory."

Harry nodded his agreement and let Cedric support him to the trophy, trying with all his might to remember that damn spell. It came to him suddenly.

"Wait," he told Cedric and pointed the wand at his leg. The bandages that sprung forth wrapped themselves tightly around his leg. He let go of Cedric and stepped on it gingerly. He wouldn't be going anywhere very quickly, but it could at least support his weight with minimal pain. He could get himself out of the maze now. Harry couldn't quite help the little thrill of excitement that went through him. He'd survived. He'd not only survived; he was going to win.

"On the count of three," Harry said when they had reached the trophy. "One, two, three." Harry and Cedric reached for it together and held it up for a moment in triumph, but then a familiar hook attached itself behind his navel and he was flying through the air. He landed with a thud in an unfamiliar field. Next to him, Cedric's face was pale as he looked through the mist at an approaching figure.


	32. Leaves of Light

Harry tried to remember everything Sirius had told him about surviving the third task.

_Always be aware of your surroundings. You never know what could make the difference between victory and defeat.  
_

Harry wrenched his eyes away from the approaching figure and looked around. He recognized the place immediately; it was the graveyard from his dreams. Harry's heart, already beating as quickly as it could in his chest, leapt into his throat. He tasted coppery fear at the back of his mouth.

"Wands out, do you reckon?" Cedric asked beside him. Harry pulled his out quickly, squinting at the man. He was sure it was a man now. A man with blond hair, who appeared to be carrying a tightly-bound bundle.

_Be prepared for anything. Things aren't always what they seem._

"Voldemort!" a little voice inside Harry's head screamed.

_When you're facing something you can't defeat, there's no shame in running away._

"But people will think I'm a coward," Harry had responded when Sirius told him that.

"Better to be alive and thought a coward than dead and thought an idiot," Sirius had replied, no hint of amusement in his usually-twinkling eyes.

"Cedric, we have to run. That man - he's a Death Eater!"

Cedric nodded tersely and turned to do just that, but stopped as he faced Harry. "You can't run on that leg."

"I can!" Harry insisted. "You have to go! I'm the one they want. You get out of here! Run to town! Maybe someone can help you!"

"No," Cedric insisted. "I won't leave you here alone. Besides, it's two on one. Those are good odds." Cedric stepped in front of Harry, his wand held steadily in front of him.

Harry was just opening his mouth to say that it was actually two on two and that one of the two was Voldemort when a high pitched voice said, "Kill the spare." The voice seemed to echo from all around, or perhaps it was only in his own mind. Harry's balance was precarious at best, but he still managed to push Cedric out of the way. The spell missed them both by inches and cracked a headstone behind them. Voldemort cried out in fury, and pain exploded in Harry's brain. He worked to stay on his feet, determined to show his courage.

Cedric leapt to his feet. "Stupefy!" he yelled.

"Avada Kedavra!" the man shouted. The spells passed one another in mid-air. The man ducked, and Cedric's spell flew over his head, close enough that it ruffled his straw-colored hair. The green jet of light that had come from the man's wand hit Cedric in the chest. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Cedric's face slowly went slack. His knees buckled beneath him, and he crumpled onto the ground. Harry didn't need to look in his glassy eyes to know that he was dead, but he couldn't rip himself away.

"Students don't die!" a voice screamed in his head.

_Never let your guard down. Your enemies will exploit any weakness. _

Harry forced himself to look away from Cedric's lifeless form.

_When in doubt, go on the offensive. Waiting to see what's going to happen gets you dead._

"But what if you go on the offensive when there's no danger and end up attacking someone for no reason?" Harry had asked.

Sirius had given a small smile. "I'm not suggesting you go out and attack people on the street, kid. I'm telling you how to get yourself safely through the maze. Nothing you meet in there is going to be innocent. If you attack first, you might be able to catch it by surprise and take it out before it even notices you're there."

Harry pulled his wand out of the sleeve where he had stashed it when he and Cedric made to grab the trophy. He kicked himself now for making that suggestion. Cedric would be alive if Harry hadn't insisted on being so damn noble. Maybe this was what the Slytherins always meant when they called Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs stupid. Maybe courage was just stupidity by another name, and perhaps nobility was nothing more than martyrdom_._

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted.

"Protego!" the man cried in response. "Expelliarmus!"

Harry's wand flew out of his hand. He was defenseless.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry felt his muscles clench as the spell took hold of him. Paralysis was always a terrifying feeling, but it was especially horrific now, when it meant he was at the complete and utter mercy of the Death Eater who had been haunting his dreams for months. Harry felt panic rise in his chest; he couldn't catch his breath. If he'd been able to, he'd have tried to run, but as it was he could only scream in his own mind and struggle in vain against the invisible force that held him still.

_No matter what happens, don't panic. There's no situation so bad that it can't be made worse by losing your head._

Harry felt his breathing slow. It was strangely comforting to remember Sirius' words. He couldn't close his eyes, but he tried to focus on remembering the timbre of his father's voice: the way it soared high like an eagle when he was excited and dropped low like a bird skimming the waters when he was being serious; and the lilt of Remus': his mother had been French, and he spoke with the slightest whisper of an accent, barely recognizable unless a person knew what to listen for; and the musicality of Ginny's: soft and comforting like a down blanket or a field of flowers. He could never hear her voice enough.

He tried to remember Sirius' bark-like laugh. Ron's loud guffaws. And Hermione's rich chuckles. The memories were a beautiful reminder in this dark place that somewhere, someone was loving him. Even if they couldn't help him. The memories calmed him. Harry felt a tear fall out of the corner of his eye and told his hand to wipe it away, forgetting that he couldn't move. A satisfying calm overtook him; there was a certain power and peace in the realization that he couldn't fight this. He remembered a tale his father used to tell him about three brothers who outwitted death. The first two were stupid and greedy and taunted death, and so he caught them, using their own weaknesses against them. The last brother was smart and hid, and when his time came, he greeted Death as an old friend. The moral was supposed to be that it was better to be wise than to be powerful, but Harry now found himself wondering if the moral wasn't that Death catches up with everyone, in the end.

As though his body knew that its life was about to be extinguished, Harry found himself painfully aware of everything happening around him. The grass prickled gently at his cheek; he'd never noticed before the way that lying on grass felt. Why had he never spent more time doing such simple things? The air was surprisingly cool for a June evening, and the fireflies were out - little holders of the light. Perhaps his father would find comfort in their beauty, once Harry was gone. It wasn't such a bad vision to die with - twinkling in the darkness.

Instead of dying, however, Harry found himself floating. Ropes bound themselves around him, and he felt the paralysis lift. He moved a finger, reveling in the sheer ease of the thing. His glasses fell off as he was lifted, and the world went blurry. Only the little flashes of light remained - bright against the dark outlines of the graveyard. A moment later, the glasses were shoved back onto his face, and everything came into sharp focus. The Death Eater's face was frighteningly close to his. He could see up the man's nose. He could almost count his nose hairs.

"We haven't been properly introduced," the Death Eater said. His breath hit Harry in a hot blast. It was curiously minty, as though he'd been chewing gum while he was waiting for Harry to come. "I am Barty Crouch."

"You're not Barty Crouch. I've met Barty Crouch," Harry said, trying to sound as defiant as he possibly could. He might not be able to fight the inevitable, but he could at least die fighting as much as he could.

"You've met my fool of a father," the man sneered.

"You're Barty Crouch Jr?"

The man nodded.

"I thought you were dead."

Crouch's face morphed into a lazy smile. The cruelty did not go out of his eyes despite the smile. "Everyone thinks I'm dead. It's quite convenient."

"You were the one I saw on the map that day! You were spying on me!"

Crouch's expression did not change. "I alone have been faithful to the Dark Lord!" Crouch shouted with an intensity so fierce and so sudden that it was startling. "And I alone shall be rewarded. You are lucky, boy. You will not only witness the Dark Lord's rebirth. You will aid in it. And then I shall be rewarded beyond all others!"

"You're mad!" Harry countered. "Voldemort doesn't care about anyone but himself. He doesn't care if you've been faithful. He won't reward you. The best thing you can do is smother that little bundle while you still can."

Crouch backhanded Harry. His glasses flew off again, catching on his ear. He tasted blood in his mouth. His tongue found the cut his teeth had made on the inside of his cheek and worried the loose skin, trying to somehow knit it back together. Blood tasted awful.

"You dare to speak his name! You dare to insult him!" Crouch pulled out his wand and stuck it in Harry's face. "If the Dark Lord didn't want to do it himself, I'd kill you now." He jammed Harry's glasses onto his face once more. "It's a pity I can't."

Crouch said nothing more, and Harry found himself floating toward the graves. He stopped in front of one that read:

**Tom Riddle  
1905-1943**

Crouch undid a few of the ropes around Harry, and a moment later, he found himself sitting atop the grave as the ropes snaked their way around the headstone, lashing him firmly to it. His hands were free, but it did him little good when he had no wand. He closed his eyes for a moment and wished for a burst of accidental magic, but that never seemed to happen anymore. He'd heard stories of it occasionally happening to well-trained wizards who lost their tempers. James once told him that it rained on him for two whole hours when he got the news that his father had died. It made quite the mess, considering he was in the parlor of his house in Godric's Hollow when it happened. He couldn't make it stop and had to go to the kitchen to keep from ruining the furniture. He'd have gone outside, except that it was February. Harry let out a small laugh, even though nothing was funny. It was odd what thoughts a person's brain would come up with in moments of stress.

Harry heard a faint bubbling and noticed for the first time that a large cauldron had been set amongst the gravestones. A lightly-colored yellow liquid simmered inside. It occurred to Harry very suddenly that it was a surprisingly pleasant color for such an unpleasant situation.

Crouch had his back to Harry as he dropped an ingredient into the potion. Harry took the opportunity to struggle as mightily as he could against the ropes that held him, though it did little but cover his neck in rope burns. Crouch bent down and lifted the bundle. It looked surprisingly like a baby, wrapped and squirming as it was. When the blanket fell away, Harry was horrified by what he saw; what had looked so like a wriggling baby was scaly and red. Harry fought down a wave of nausea as it landed in the potion with a small plop and sank beneath the yellowy froth.

Crouch turned back to Harry. "Harry Potter, witness the rebirth of the greatest wizard to ever live!"

Crouch waved his wand, and a gray powder rose from the ground at Harry's feet. "Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Crouch cried, as the powder dropped into the potion. The potion hissed and turned a sickly green, emitting an odor like death and decay. Harry thought that a much more fitting color for such a dark potion.

Next, Crouch pulled out a silver knife and raised it high into the air.

"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!" Crouch put his left hand across the lip of the cauldron and brought the knife down in one fluid motion. He did not flinch when his hand fell into the cauldron. When he lifted his stump of an arm, he looked at it and smiled, his teeth gleaming brightly in the moonlight. His eyes were wild as he watched blood pump from the wound. He muttered an incantation over it that stopped most of the bleeding and wrapped it in a cloth. Then he turned on Harry, approaching slowly. Harry struggled again, watching Crouch's slow approach.

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!" Harry watched helplessly as Crouch lowered the knife, slicing a clean line through the crook of his arm. Harry forced himself not to cry out at the sudden pain, but he could not stop himself from flinching. Crouch caught the dripping blood in a cup and took it back to the cauldron. The potion had been bubbling a nauseating yellowish brown since Crouch's hand fell in it, but now it turned blood red as Harry's blood was added.

Crouch turned to Harry, the mad gleam still in his eye. "And now you shall see the Dark Lord rise from the ashes. Death cannot hold him, nor men break him. He alone has the power to make himself invincible."

"Let it have gone wrong," Harry prayed silently. "Let it have been misbrewed. Let the thing have drowned."

But he could already see that his prayer would not be answered. An evil face had begun to arise from the potion. The head was pale and hairless, the eyes red and cold, the lips thin and inhuman, and in place of a nose, there were but two slits, like a snake. The entire face was so snake-like that Harry nearly expected it to stick out a forked tongue and taste the air, but instead it continued to rise, followed by a body, with arms held triumphantly in the air. The man - Voldemort, Harry knew - floated into the air and landed gracefully on the ground.

"My Lord!" Crouch cried, and fell prostrate on the ground.

Voldemort ignored him, stopping only to pick up his wand. "Harry Potter," he said, and Harry recognized the high, cold voice from so many of his dreams. "How nice to finally meet you."

Voldemort approached Harry slowly, crouching down to run a finger across his face. His scar seared painfully, and he bit down the accompanying wave of nausea. He wouldn't let Voldemort know that he was hurt or afraid.

"I can touch you now," Voldemort hissed in his ear. "Whatever protection was in your blood has now passed on to me."

Harry stiffened inside his bonds. He'd not only taken Harry's blood; he'd stolen his mother's last wish for him as well.

"You sit on the grave of my father," Voldemort explained. "He was a filthy man, a muggle who left my mother when he discovered she was a witch. Muggles are ruled by only the basest instincts. Not like you and I. I killed him when I was young. It was a great honor. I only wish all half-bloods could know such an honor."

Harry felt his face harden into a glare. He spat in Voldemort's face. The bloody globule landed on his cheek, and Harry swore inwardly. He'd been aiming for the monster's eye. Voldemort's only response was to laugh. He pointed his wand at Harry. "Crucio!"

Every nerve ending in Harry's body snapped. His bones were shattering. His head was splitting. His heart was going to explode inside his chest. His lungs couldn't take in air. His insides were boiling. His fingers and toes curled against the pain. He heard a scream and only vaguely realized it was coming from his own throat. He'd scream himself raw and no one would hear. The pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Harry twitched against the headstone.

"Manners, Harry," Voldemort chided.

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on catching his breath. He might not have cared if he died, so long as Voldemort never did that to him again.

Voldemort rose and went to Crouch, who had risen into a kneeling position on the ground, gleefully watching his master torture Harry.

"Give me your hand," Voldemort ordered. Crouch lifted his stump, still bandaged tightly, a look of purest joy on his face.

"The other hand!" Voldemort snapped. Crouch's smile faded for only a moment, but then was plastered back on. Harry was suddenly reminded of a muggle film about pod people he had once watched with Dudley.

Crouch lifted his left hand, and Voldemort took it, twisting it to access the inside of his wrist. He lifted the sleeve and revealed a blackened tattoo. A skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth.

The dark mark.

Voldemort touched his wand to it, and it burned red. Crouch's face showed no pain, but his fingers twitched inside Voldemort's grasp. "Now we shall see which of my followers has remained faithful to their Lord," Voldemort said as he dropped Crouch's hand. Soon, little pops around the graveyard signaled the arrival of more wizards. Harry looked around, hoping it would be help, and instead found himself surrounded by sloping, hooded figures who tightened themselves into a circle around Voldemort.

The Death Eaters had arrived.

Harry watched in horror as Voldemort greeted them, mumbling names Harry recognized. Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. Nott. Avery. McNair.

There were also names he'd never heard. Far too many of them. The names began to bounce around in Harry's brain. Carrow. There were two of them. Dolohov. Rookwood. Yaxley. Selwyn. Gibbon. Mulciber. Rosier. Travers. Rowle. The list went on an on.

As Voldemort made his way around the circle, he came to holes here and there. He stopped at them, naming the fate of the man or woman who would have stood there. Most of them were in Azkaban. A few were dead. Some had betrayed him. One was at Hogwarts. Harry's ears began to ring when he heard that; a Death Eater at Hogwarts. He'd have to tell his dad! Then he remember very suddenly and felt overwhelmed with grief. It was a silly, childish thing to want his father. And he certainly wouldn't have wanted James to be here with him, in danger. But he wanted him all the same. He just wanted to see him. Only for a moment. Even if it was from far away. He tried again to focus on his dad's voice, hearing it in his head, whispering, "I love you".

Voldemort's voice, cold and grating, pushed James' away. "We are joined tonight by a special guest. Harry Potter has helped me to rise again. All of you owe him a debt of gratitude."

Voldemort began to clap, and the Death Eaters joined in, forming a cacophony of sound that hit Harry like a wall. They were applauding him for having been dragged here against his will and tortured. It seemed the cruelest part of the whole charade, really.

Voldemort began to explain his journey since the night in Godric's hollow nearly fourteen years ago. How he was ripped from his body and knew nothing but pain. How he waited in vain for one of his loyal followers to find him. Harry thought he heard a guilty murmur going through crowd at that and wondered why anyone should feel guilty for letting the dead stay dead. One of the Death Eaters - Harry thought it may have been one of the Carrows - threw himself at Voldemort's feet, begging for forgiveness. Voldemort laughed at his misery and pointed his wand at the prostrate man. He screamed when the cruciatus curse hit him. The surrounding Death Eaters laughed, even the other Carrow.

The man struggled back to his spot and Voldemort continued to speak as though nothing had happened. He had lived, he explained, by possessing the bodies of rats until he found himself a human host: Quirinius Quirrell. After his quest to obtain the Philosopher's Stone failed - thanks to Harry - he hit his lowest point. His only remaining faithful servant was gone, and the others had all deserted him. Then a ray of hope came in the form of another servant. A servant who heard the rumors that Voldemort was hiding in Albania. A servant who had been imprisoned but broke free of his bonds to find Voldemort, and find him, he had.

Voldemort went to Crouch, who stood behind him with his head held high. "Crouch sacrificed of himself to bring me back, and behold, I shall reward him." He turned to Harry. "Regardless of what you may believe, Harry Potter, the Dark Lord always rewards his faithful followers." He turned back to Crouch. "Hold out your hand." Crouch obeyed, and Voldemort waved his wand over the stump. The bandages fell away, and a silvery hand poured out of the tip. It floated in the air a moment before attaching itself to Crouch's arm, weaving itself seamlessly into the skin. Crouch's face transformed as he regarded the new hand. He reached down and grabbed a pebble, grinding it into dust in.

"Thank you, my Lord!" he cried. "Thank you!"

Voldemort turned back to the assembled crowd and continued his story. Barty Crouch, alone, had been faithful, Voldemort claimed, and through his ministrations, Voldemort had finally gained a rudimentary body, and together they had formed a plan to bring him back to power. The plan, Voldemort said, was dependent upon Harry.

"I could have had anyone, really. Those who are truly great make any number of enemies amongst the mediocre minds that are permitted to roam freely about our world, but no more! We will declare war against mediocrity. We will build a new society - a pureblood wizarding society that will last throughout history! We will call up our old allies. Azkaban will fall as the dementors join us. Those who have been imprisoned will return. Muggles and blood traitors alike will cower in fear at the army we will build!

"There are likely some who would have told me to leave the boy, to rise quicker rather than better, but what care I for waiting? I, who waited thirteen years for this moment? I would have no less than Harry Potter, no less than the best to begin my new life and my new empire. This boy, this... child... whom everyone thought had defeated me, lies beaten at my feet. And now, you all will be able to watch as I defeat him for good. Malfoy! Untie him! Crouch! Give him his wand! Let no one say that the Dark Lord isn't merciful. I will let you die like a man, Harry Potter, standing and facing your better with your wand in hand."

The ropes scraped across Harry's rope-burned wrists and neck as Mr. Malfoy untied him roughly. Crouch thrust his wand back into his hand and jerked him to his feet. Harry stood on shaky legs, glad once again for the bandages that held his injured leg in place. Sirius was a life saver. He only wished his godfather had been able to give him some words of wisdom for a moment such as this.

Harry looked into Voldemort's eyes, his wand at the ready."We will duel properly." Voldemort inclined his head, and look at Harry expectantly. "Surely, you've been taught how to duel, Harry. Come now. Bow before death."

Harry stood ramrod straight, determined not to play this game.

"Bow, Harry!" Voldemort ordered, this time with a wave of his wand. Harry felt his spine protest as it curled against his will. He straightened as quickly as he could the instant the spell was lifted.

"That's better," Voldemort said with a cruel smile. "One should never underestimate the power of good manners. Crucio!" Harry felt himself hit the ground as the pain exploded in him once more. He couldn't bear it. He was going to die any moment now, and he would welcome it. It had to be better than this.

_No matter how dark things look, never give up hope._

Sirius' voice echoed in his mind, and he focused on their smiling faces. The Marauders. Ginny. Ron. Hermione. The Weasleys. All of them. All of the people he loved. Their faces would be his lifeline. The pain stopped, and Harry rushed to his feet the moment he could make his screaming muscles move. He lifted his wand. "Stupefy!"

As Crouch had done before him, Voldemort easily diverted the spell. It bounced back at Harry and flew over his head. The Death Eaters laughed. Frustration seethed inside of Harry. This was all entertainment to them!

"Just get on with it already!" Harry shouted.

Voldemort tilted his head as he regarded Harry through his snakey eyes. Harry noticed for the first time that they had slits for pupils. He couldn't understand why anyone should want to look so hideous.

"Have you finished with our game, then, Harry?" Voldemort asked. "Very well. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry ducked behind a tombstone, and it shattered when the spell hit it.

"Running, are we?" Voldemort taunted. Harry took a deep breath and ducked behind another tombstone, trying to make his way out of the graveyard. If he ran to the town, he thought, maybe someone there could help him. Or maybe someone would have a fireplace, and he could go back to Hogwarts or, better yet, home. Death Eaters laughed at him as he ran, seeking cover as curses flew at him from seemingly all directions. Harry stood behind a tree, his heart hammering. He'd reached a dead end. There was no more cover, except back the way he had come, and the Death Eaters were already closing in.

"Come out, Harry!" Voldemort called. "You don't want to die cowering behind a tree do you?"

Harry took a deep breath. He'd have only one chance, so he'd better make it count. He stepped from behind the tree. "Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort yelled. The spells collided in midair, red and green melding together like fireworks. Harry would have thought it was pretty if he weren't so terrified. Rather than disappearing or veering away from one another as colliding spells usually did, these spells stuck together, fading stiffly to gold. The red from Harry's wand, and the green from Voldemort's faded as well, and small beads of light, looking surprisingly like the fireflies that still flew all around them, glistened on the line of magic stretching from Harry to his foe. A note very like phoenix song burst through the air, filling Harry with hope.

_No matter how dark things look, never give up hope. __Sometimes help comes in the most unexpected ways._

Unexpected indeed. Harry's wand began to vibrate as the beads of light moved toward him. He gripped his wand with both hands. "Don't break the connection!" a voice in his mind screamed.

"Do nothing!" Voldemort ordered Death Eaters, who were moving in. "Leave the boy to me!" His voice sounded calm, but Harry couldn't help thinking that something very like fear was etched across his inhuman face. The light fractured and webbed away, forming a golden cage around Harry and Voldemort. The little beads of light came closer, and Harry's wand vibrated more violently, so much so that the effort of holding it jarred his shoulders and made his teeth clack together. He forced all of his energy into pushing the beads back, not sure how he was doing it. His wand shook less the farther away from him they went, and he could see that Voldemort's wand was shaking now. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry willed the beads forward, not sure what would happen when they touched one of the wands.

A bead was inches from Voldemort's wand now, and moving forward. When it touched, Voldemort let out a little cry, accompanied by another note of whatever sounded so very much like phoenix song. It made Harry feel warm down to his toes. He almost forgot he was in this gritty graveyard, fighting for his life.

Then someone began to scream.

It took Harry a moment to realize the screams had come from Voldemort's wand. Then a hand emerged and dropped to the ground, followed by more screams. Next came a head and shoulders, followed by a torso, and finally legs as Cedric emerged.

"Cedric!" Harry cried. "I'm sorry. I tried to save you. I... I told you to run!" He didn't realize until he felt the warmth on his face that tears were falling from his eyes. More screams were coming from the wand.

"It wasn't your fault," Cedric said softly. "Only take my body back to my parents. And tell them what happened. They need to know. Would you... would you do that for me?"

Harry nodded as a new form appeared. This one of a man he had seen only in dreams. Frank Bryce limped as he approached Harry. "So, he was a bad man, then? You fight him, boy."

Next came the head and shoulders of Bertha Jorkins, whom Harry recognized from her picture in the Daily Prophet. "Fight him, Harry," she whispered. "We're behind you."

More screams followed, and then another person. Harry gasped when he saw who it was. It was his mother. She was as beautiful as everyone always said. She moved with an impossible grace, her long hair fluttering behind her. She approached Harry and kissed his cheek. She wasn't cold, the way Harry would have expected a ghost to feel, but warm and almost solid. "I am so proud of you," she whispered.

"Mum, I..." Harry stuttered around the fresh tears.

"Shh," she said, putting a finger to Harry's lips. "There isn't time. You'll have to break the connection. Do it on my orders. We'll distract him, and you can run. Go back to the trophy. It will take you back to Hogwarts. Please tell your father I love him, and Harry..."

Harry forced his eyes to look into hers.

"Never forget that I love you."

Harry nodded, the world blurry through his tears.

"Go, Harry, run!" Harry ripped his wand upward and saw the golden strands disappear. The apparitions closed in on Voldemort, and Harry ran as quickly as he could - quicker than he would have thought possible on his injured leg, to the trophy, still lying on the ground, only feet from Cedric's broken form. He took Cedric's wrist and pulled him closer to the trophy.

"Get him!" he heard Voldemort screech behind him. Harry reached, stretching, until his fingertips brushed the trophy and a familiar hook attached itself behind his navel. The graveyard and everyone in it disappeared in a blur.


	33. Free Wheeling, Double Dealing

Beta: ObsidianEmbrace

James couldn't put his finger on the first moment he realized something was amiss. It wasn't when Moody clomped across the erstwhile quidditch pitch with Tonks tripping on his heels to whisper furiously in Dumbledore's ear. It wasn't when Dumbledore rose and crossed the stands to whisper to Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour. It was some time between the moment when Dumbledore straightened, his face frightened, and the moment when Scrimgeour turned in his seat to lock eyes with James.

"Something's wrong," James whispered to Remus, his breath hitching in his throat.

"What makes you think that?"

"Look at Dumbledore."

It took Remus less than the space of a second to come to the same conclusion and another second further for the two of them to decide they were going down to investigate.

"What's the matter? What's happening," James asked when he arrived at the bottom row of bleachers. He tried to bite down the panic rising in his chest, telling himself there was no reason for it.

"Harry and the Diggory boy reached the trophy," Scrimgeour informed him tersely.

"So what's the problem?" James asked. He knew no one was this upset over having two winners.

"They've disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" James asked slowly.

"It appears the trophy was a portkey."

"A portkey?" James repeated. His brain worked furiously to catch up to what he was hearing. "A portkey?"

Scrimgeour nodded.

"A portkey to where?"

"That's where the problem comes in," Dumbledore said gently. "We don't know."

"You don't know?" James echoed, his voice rising in both pitch and volume. "So you're telling me you've no idea where my son is?"

"James, you have to be quiet. We don't want to alarm everyone," Cornelius Fudge ordered, holding his hands out to James in an attempt to calm him.

"Don't want to alarm everyone?" James cried. "That's your concern right now? Keeping the audience calm?"

"There's no way to know where they've gone," Fudge said as Remus appeared by his side. "There's nothing we can do but wait."

James was not prepared to accept that answer. His mind worked a million miles an hour, trying to come up with a logical explanation or a flash of insight or a plan to get to his child. He wished Sirius were here. Sirius was good at those sorts of things. "Who set the trophy in the maze?"

"I did," Moody growled. "And I can assure you it wasn't a portkey then, though anyone could have come along after me and made it into one. I placed it this morning."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Moody asked. "If I had, don't you think I'd have shared it by now? I didn't see a soul this morning, but someone stunned me just before the task began."

"Stunned you? I thought you could see everything."

"Whoever did it must known how to work around my vision. Then they covered me with an invisibility cloak so no one would find me. Tonks here tripped over me a few minutes ago and revived me." He jerked a thumb toward her, and she gave a small wave.

"I didn't see anything, either, unfortunately," she said apologetically.

"If she hadn't found me, I'd probably still be unconscious. That's when I saw that Harry, Diggory, and the trophy were all gone."

James turned to Dumbledore. "Are you sure you don't know where they've gone? You can't figure it out?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Portkeys are untraceable. You know that."

James had the sudden feeling like he might sick up. He had never been so terrified in all his life; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry was in danger, and there was nothing he could do about it. He thrust his hands into his pocket and winced as his pinky struck the mirror.

The mirror!

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten it. He wondered briefly why Harry hadn't tried to call him yet. He sat on the bleachers, pulled it out of his pocket and called Harry's name as the light of hope coursed through him.

Nothing happened.

James called again.

Again, nothing happened.

James tried to tell himself it didn't mean anything. The mirror was in Harry's pocket, and Harry would need a moment to get to it. That was all. Any second now, his son's face would appear. Any second now. James' heart beat more quickly with each instant that passed.

"How am I supposed to just sit here when he could be hurt?" he whispered. A sudden pain seared across his chest, and he felt he'd never be able to breathe again. What breath he could catch came in gasps as he struggled to defeat the panic rising in him.

Remus sat beside him, shaking his head. "He'll be fine, James. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and he keeps cool in crises." James wanted to scream. How could Remus be so damned calm?

"Where the hell is Sirius?" James asked, grasping for anything to say besides the thing that he feared.

"Probably still at his post," Tonks offered, taking a seat on James' other side. "He probably doesn't know yet. They appear to be trying to keep it under wraps."

"You have to breathe, James," Remus said softly. "Harry will be fine. He will. Should I get you a calming draught?"

"I don't need a damned calming draught!" James snapped. "I need my son!"

"I know," Remus replied, his voice softer still. "But you still have to breathe. Harry will be fine. He's probably on his way back as we speak. He's a smart boy, and talented, and quick on his feet. Nothing is going to hurt a single hair on his head."

James nodded and forced himself to take slow and regular breaths, even as his stomach clenched tighter and tighter. He and Remus sat shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing, as each lived inside his own fears.

Dumbledore, Fudge, and Scrimgeour rushed off toward the maze to see if they could find any evidence for where Harry might have gone, and James stared at the ground, feeling as though he were stuck in one long, terrifying nightmare as blood pounded in his ears.

The seconds felt like hours as they ticked by, until finally Harry and Cedric appeared in the middle of the pitch, hand in hand. Harry still held the trophy. His knees buckled and both boys fell to the ground. Cedric was unconscious. James was off the bench and at Harry's side within seconds. Remus was right on his heels. Dumbledore followed soon after. Harry was sitting on his knees, staring dejectedly at the grass. His heart beating a tattoo in his chest, James dropped to the ground beside him and grasped Harry's shoulders, trying to assure himself that the boy was whole as much as anything else.

"Are you hurt?" he asked desperately, terrified of the answer. He found himself checking Harry with his eyes, looking for blood stains or broken bones. He saw no injuries that looked serious - only the bandages on his leg and a few cuts and bruises.

"Dad?" Harry asked pleadingly, his eyes groping for his father's comforting face. He threw his arms around James' neck with such force that James nearly fell over. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"I'm here, Harry. You're safe now. Are you hurt?"

"Cedric," Harry said with the tiniest of whimpers.

James turned to look at Cedric. Dumbledore had turned him over. James looked at the boy's face, and his breath caught. There was no question that he was dead.

"Oh, God," James whispered. "Professor, Amos and Melinda are here. Someone has to tell them. You can't let them see." Cedric's eyes were open, staring unseeing at the sky. Just like Lily's had been. Just like the Boggart Harry's had been. James took a hand away from his death grip on his son long enough to reach down and close them, forcing himself to look away from the dead boy's still-warm face. His heart broke for Amos and Melinda. Having to bury Harry had always been James' greatest fear.

"He wanted me to bring him back to his parents," Harry explained, pulling away from James to stare intently into Cedric's face. He looked up at James very suddenly, desperation etched across his features. "I couldn't save him. I tried. I really did! But I couldn't, Dad! I just couldn't!"

"It's all right. You did everything you could. You were very brave to bring him back." James pulled Harry close, and Harry buried his face in James' robes.

"Shh. You're safe now. Everything's going to be all right," James whispered, holding Harry as tightly as he could despite the heaving of his shoulders.

Harry jerked his head up. "Voldemort's back," he told his father. "I saw him. He's back. With a body. He has red eyes." He buried his face once more.

James locked eyes with Remus over the top of Harry's head. They both knew what this meant. They had been standing on the edge of this war for three years, and now it was here. James hugged Harry tightly, laying a cheek on his son's spiky hair and blocking out the rising pandemonium around them as news of Cedric's death filtered amongst the crowd. Somewhere in the midst of all the shouts and cries, he heard an anguish-filled wail that he was sure belonged to Amos. Tears stung the back of his eyes as he found himself once again traveling down the dark road of how easily and how quickly a person could lose everything.

It seemed to James that they had been there a lifetime when Harry lifted his head. "What now?" he whispered.

"I don't know," James admitted. "I just don't know." He didn't have the heart to tell Harry that he had witnessed the start of a war - a war that it was highly unlikely all of his loved-ones would survive. If James never understood anything else about Voldemort, he knew the man - if he could be called a man - was nothing if not ruthless. He would pursue his goals with single-minded conviction and kill anything and anyone who stepped into his way. And that was exactly what James intended to do. Knowing Sirius and Remus, they would do the same.

James looked around him and saw that not much time had passed at all, though it seemed to him that it had been ten years since the moment he realized Harry was gone, and another ten since Harry and Cedric had reappeared. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Madame Pomfrey came by to conjure a stretcher under Cedric's body. She had tears in her eyes. She came to Harry to check him over, but he brushed her off. "I'm fine," he told her. "Take care of Cedric."

"There's nothing I can do for Cedric," she said softly, wiping at a stray tear that had found its way down her cheek. "Let me at least see to your ankle."

Harry hesitated, but allowed it. The pain burst upon him with with surprising daring when she unwrapped the bandages. "We'll have to mend the bone," she whispered, but she healed the worst of the cuts and reduced the swelling before re-wrapping it.

"That should hold until I can get a better look at it. Come to the hospital wing as soon as you can." Pomfrey looked at Cedric. "I've never lost a student before." She waved her wand, and the stretcher containing the body floated along before her as she disappeared into the castle and Sirius appeared at James' side.

"Harry," he said in a near whisper. "Are you all right? What happened?" His face wore more panic than Harry had ever seen.

"Cedric died," Harry explained.

Sirius put a protective hand around Harry's shoulder, pulling him close. Harry offered no resistance; it felt so good to be safe with the people who loved him. "I know." Sirius looked at James. "I've been sent to fetch you. Dumbledore wants you."

"Now? I can't leave Harry."

"Amos Diggory was asking for you."

"For me?" James asked. "Why me? He hardly knows me."

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know. I only know he asked for you, and Dumbledore seems to think he should get what he asks for just now."

James thought to the hours and days after Lily died. He had found strange company in those days. Some of the most comforting hours he spent had been with Petunia of all people, listening to reminiscences of their childhood. It was then that Petunia invited James and Harry to come visit sometimes, and the two of them had begun the tradition of going every summer, up until last year. James often wondered what Petunia would have been like had she not chosen to marry such a lump of a man. There was still kindness in her, James knew. He sighed. If Amos wanted James' company, he should have it. A person who had just lost his only son needed whatever company he could get.

"Harry, would you be all right if I went?"

Harry nodded, his face strangled as he made a valiant effort to appear brave.

"I'll stay with him," Sirius supplied.

James nodded, still not sure he should be leaving Harry alone at a time like this.

"Just go, Dad," Harry ordered. "Take care of Mr. Diggory. I'm fine."

James' heart swelled with pride. Harry was so like his mother, kind-hearted and selfless. Too much so, sometimes.

"Okay. Stay here. I'll come back as soon as I can." He went off toward the stands as he heard Sirius say, "It's all right. Everything's going to be fine. I've got you." For the thousandth time in his life, James said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Sirius.

James' eyes found Dumbledore quickly. He was indeed with Amos and Melinda. Melinda was doubled over, wailing into her knees. Amos stared at the ground, his eyes painfully dry, as though his grief were beyond tears. A lump formed in James' throat.

Dumbledore saw him and left Amos' side. Amos didn't seem to notice. "James? Is Harry all right?"

"As all right as he can be, I suppose. I came to see Amos and Melinda."

Dumbledore looked confused for only a moment. "They're not really in the mood to see much of anyone right now."

"But Sirius said Amos was asking for me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "He hasn't said a word since we told him."

A shadow crossed James' face. "But Sirius said..." He turned quickly back to where he had left his best mate and his son, but they were no longer there. Only a light indention in the grass, already disappearing, showed where Harry had lain.

* * *

Harry didn't know what was happening. Nor did he care. He was safe now, with Sirius. That was all that mattered.

"Dad said to stay," Harry said thickly. It seemed very important for him to explain that point. He wanted to be sure Sirius understood that he wasn't being belligerent for belligerence's sake. He didn't want Sirius to put him in a body bind again. He'd had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

"Don't worry, Harry. Your dad wants you to rest," Sirius cooed, helping Harry gently to his feet.

"But he said to stay," Harry repeated.

"And I said don't worry about it," Sirius replied. "Come on. He won't be upset with you. We're just going to my quarters. He'll know to look for you there."

That made sense to Harry, and so he fell silent, leaning heavily on his godfather. It felt good to let himself be led, to not have to think, to not have to feel anything. Sirius all but carried him into the castle and up to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius' quarters were comforting in their familiarity. Harry stumbled to the sofa and lay down, burying his face in the cushions. They smelled of Sirius' aftershave: a dry, comforting sort of smell that Harry had always loved. He'd awoken before Sirius one morning while staying here when he was seven and gone to the bathroom to pretend to shave. After covering himself in shaving cream and wiping it off with Sirius' toothbrush, which he was pretending with all his might was a wand, Harry poured a whole bottle of the stuff on himself and then went to Sirius' room proudly to kiss him awake and show off his latest accomplishment.

He hadn't needed to wake Sirius, however, for Sirius awoke sneezing the moment Harry entered the room. Sirius claimed it would take five baths before the smell of the stuff weakened enough that anyone would be able to stand being in the same room with him, though it had only taken two. Harry smiled into the cushion thinking of Sirius' reaction when he'd discovered the mess Harry had left in the bathroom and that his toothbrush was now covered with shaving cream. "How did you manage to get shaving cream on the ceiling?" Sirius had asked, his voice full of exasperation. When James found out, he took Harry out for ice cream to congratulate him for giving his godfather so much trouble.

Today, the sofa was soft and perfect. Harry had fallen asleep on this very sofa more times than he could count, and wanted nothing more than to do so again.

"Wait a moment, Harry. I know you're tired, but I need to know what happened."

Harry groaned, forcing himself to sit up. "May I have a drink? I'm very thirsty."

"In a minute," Sirius declared, seating himself on the coffee table. "After you tell me what happened in the graveyard."

Harry sighed. He just wanted to rest, but he forced himself to tell everything. Sirius listened impassively until Harry came to the part where Voldemort emerged from the cauldron.

"He's back? With a body? Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "He has red eyes."

Sirius let out a long, low whistle. Something prickled in Harry's memory, but it was gone almost as soon as it had come.

"What happened then?"

"He called the Death Eaters and they all came. They have these things on their arms. Like brands or tattoos or something. The Dark Mark. I saw it. And when Voldemort touched Crouch's they all came. Mr. Malfoy was there. And McNair, the man who tried to kill Buckbeak. And a lot of other people. I remember some of their names, and he said there's a Death Eater at Hogwarts. Sirius, you don't reckon it could be Snape, do you?"

Sirius took in the information quietly. "Perhaps. Go on."

"Then he cast the cruciatus curse on me," Harry whispered, full of frustration at Sirius' lack of response. He wanted Sirius to hug him and tell him everything would be fine just as he always did, or tell him he'd done a good job defending himself like Sirius had taught him to do, or even to get angry on his behalf. But Sirius merely stared at him, an infuriating calm behind his eyes.

"Continue."

"He gave me my wand back, and we dueled. He made me bow, but I remembered what you said about not panicking and never losing hope. I tried to stun him, but it didn't work."

"No," Sirius agreed quietly. "A fourteen-year-old can't very well stun the Dark Lord. What happened then?"

"Then he tried to kill me, but our wands locked, and I saw Cedric and Bertha Jorkins and a muggle and... and mum."

Harry looked up at Sirius with eyes shining. "She said she loves me."

Sirius blinked twice. "Priori Incantatum, it sounds like," he muttered. "I never would have expected that. I wonder what caused it."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Sirius. Why wasn't he helping? Why wasn't he saying anything comforting? Didn't he care that Harry had just been through hell? "How should I know?" he snapped. "There was a sort of web thing around us, with beads on it, and when they touched his wand, that was what happened. And there was a song that sounded just like a phoenix. It made me feel all warm inside like a pheonix song as well."

"A phoenix?" Sirius' face lit up. "I wonder if it was the shared cores. It's very rare for wands to share cores. Yes, that must have been it. Interesting. Very interesting. I wonder if there's a way around it."

"Why would I want to get around it? It saved my life."

Sirius ignored his outburst. "Now answer me one thing. How did you ever make it back to Hogwarts? The portkey was only supposed to take you to the graveyard. It wasn't supposed to bring you back."

Harry shrugged. "I think maybe my mum did something to it. She told me to... wait, how did you know I was in a graveyard?"

"Because I was the one who set the portkey, of course," Sirius replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were making the most obvious statement in the world.

"You set the portkey?" Harry repeated stupidly. "You?"

"Yes. After Moody put it in the maze this morning, I went in and turned it to a portkey while I was supposed to be feeding the griffin. Then I disillusioned myself and stunned Moody before the task began so he wouldn't see anything and followed you in the maze. I learned to move quite stealthily through underbrush during the war, though I was afraid you heard me once or twice. I stayed ahead of you and got rid of a few things for you, made your task easier so you'd be sure to win, but you still managed to take Diggory along with you, didn't you? I should have expected it, really. You always were so... _noble_. I'm glad to hear Crouch was able to deal with the complication. And now there's only the small problem that you're supposed to be dead. But no matter. We'll take the floo back to my cottage and apparate to the graveyard from there."

Harry froze, his muscles tense. His mind screamed at him that something was wrong, but his body couldn't catch up. He tried several times to form a word, but only little gasps came out. "What?" he finally managed. "How? Why? But you're... _Sirius_!"

"Yes, using me made it much easier. You already trusted me, you see. You ate up every word I said. 'Your dad says it's fine for you to compete in the task,' I said, and you never questioned me. 'I'm only trying to do what's best for Harry,' I said, and everyone believed it. It was almost too easy, boy."

"But I... I don't understand," Harry cried. He couldn't make his mind understand what his ears were hearing.

"What's there to understand?" Sirius asked. "I'm going to deliver you to the Dark Lord." He reached out and grabbed Harry with strong arms and began wrestling him to the floo. Harry fought as hard as he could, kicking with his good leg and screaming loudly in hopes that someone would help.

"No one can hear you," Sirius said casually, calmly, as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Everyone's still outside, tending to that poor boy's parents." Sirius reached up to the mantel and grabbed a handful of floo powder, tossing it into the fire. "Sirius Black's House!" he called, stepping one foot into the flame.

Just then, the door blasted open, sending little splinters everywhere. James, Remus, Tonks, McGonagall, Scrimgeour, Moody, and Dumbledore all came flying in.

"Let him go!" James ordered.

"Dad!" Harry called, his voice muffled by Sirius' arm across his face. Struck by sudden inspiration, Harry bit it as hard as he could - so hard he tasted blood. Sirius didn't react.

"Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore cried, and Sirius' wand flew toward him. In a flash, Sirius had Harry's wand wrenched out of his sleeve where he always kept it and had maneuvered Harry so Harry was standing in front of him, like a shield. He held the wand to Harry's temple. "I could kill him before you could stop me," he said in a harsh monotone. "But better yet, you're all going to watch me take him. Cast a spell at me, and you'll hit him. Wouldn't want to risk that, would you _Jamie_?"

Sirius raised Harry's wand menacingly and darted his gaze back and forth between the witches and wizards who had just burst into his office. Sirius' eyes were wide and feral, like a cornered animal. Harry knew what was going to happen before it did, and he wanted to scream out some sort of a warning, but his mouth felt dry, like it had been suddenly filled with cotton. Sirius twitched his wand from person to person, finally landing on James.

"Crucio!" he bellowed.

The spell hit James full in the chest, and he fell, writhing, to the ground.


	34. Pestilence and Penitence

Beta: ObsidianEmbrace

Harry struggled as mightily as he could. He kicked. He bit. He scratched. He stamped as hard as he could on Sirius' foot. He tried anything he could think of that might make Sirius loosen his grip so Harry could get to his father.

Sirius' hold on him only tightened. "That's enough of that," he said gruffly in Harry's ear. A strange rushing sound filled Harry's ears, making him feel oddly lightheaded. He still couldn't understand this. Sirius couldn't be a Death Eater. He just couldn't.

But he was.

Harry recalled James and Remus telling him once that Sirius had been a masterful fighter during the war, and Harry could suddenly see why. Sirius never lost his head, no matter what happened, and he never stopped fighting, no matter how hopeless a situation seemed. Many had been the time, James said, when they'd been horribly outnumbered, and surrounded, and he'd been sure they were about to be killed when Sirius would suddenly summon his motorbike and whisk them off into the air, or pull him into a nearby river that James hadn't even known was there and cast an underwater bubblehead charm so they could make a watery escape, or manage to find the one spot on the planet where none of them could hit him and take them out one by one from behind a boulder of from the inside of a thicket.

And he had a very high tolerance for pain, as Harry was beginning to see. He could get hit with the cruciatus curse and be on his feet again the second it was lifted, shooting stunners at the person who'd cursed him while James was still on the ground trying to catch his breath. Now that Harry himself had been hit with it, he found the feat amazing, but Sirius' father had subjected him to great amounts of pain for his own amusement, and so Sirius had had to learn when he was very young to withstand it. To work through it. To ignore it and continue on.

Still, Harry fought. He had to. Sirius had told him never to give up hope, and he wouldn't, even when it was Sirius he was fighting. He didn't know what else to do, and his dad was still on the ground screaming, and surely a person couldn't scream that much without dying, and Harry's own brain seemed to explode with pain in sympathy, or from the memory of how awful the curse had been, and Sirius' arm was so tight around his neck that it pressed painfully on his windpipe, making it difficult to breathe, and Sirius had never, ever hurt him before, had promised to never hurt him, and Dumbledore was radiating fury, which might have been even more terrifying than the idea that Sirius was a Death Eater and was taking him to Voldemort to be killed, and there was nothing he could do about it because there would be no portkey to save him this time.

He'd be alone in the graveyard with a hundred madmen and his godfather, who had betrayed him.

"Harry, be still," Remus ordered, and Harry went slack in Sirius' arms. A moment later, a silent spell shot out of the end of Dumbledore's wand and rocketed straight toward Harry's head. The world seemed to stop turning for an instant. He never even felt any fear. Harry closed his eyes against the impact of whatever such an angry Dumbledore could dish out, but the spell missed him by millimeters, ruffling his hair as it zoomed past, to hit Sirius right between the eyes.

Sirius' arms immediately went slack. Harry's wand clambered to the floor, and Harry pushed Sirius away and ran to the watching crowd. Remus grabbed him, holding him tightly, as Harry turned to see what Dumbledore had done to Sirius. He was still standing, but staggering dangerously. He fell slowly, in a graceful arc, his eyes closed and his face peaceful. Sirius landed hard on the hearth, only inches from the flames. The shadows from the fire danced across his body, making it seem as though it were still moving, though Harry knew it wasn't.

Dumbledore went to bind him and move him to safety. It had all happened in the space of a second. Harry realized very quickly that his father's screams had stopped as suddenly as they had begun. He looked at James and saw him still on the ground, curled in a little ball, and still twitching from the aftereffects of the spell.

Harry went to run to him, but Remus held him back. "Give him a moment," Remus whispered.

"No!" Harry shouted. He was tired of being held and bound and ordered. His dad was hurt, and he was going. He elbowed Remus in the gut. Remus let out a yelp and let go, and Harry dropped to the ground next to James. "Dad? Dad, are you all right?"

James uncurled slowly, his muscles continuing to twitch against his will. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Harry's concerned face. "Yes, I'm all right," he whispered around his raw throat. It wasn't the first time he'd been hit with the cruciatus curse, though he seemed to have forgotten how awful it truly was. He remembered one of his DADA professors telling his class once that the human body protects itself from pain by minimizing its memory: that it has to or everyone would stay in bed all the time, paralyzed by the fear of pain. And no woman would ever have a second child.

His lungs burned as he filled them, taking in as much air as he could and letting it out in a loud _whoosh_. He looked around. Sirius was unconscious and already tied tightly. Dumbledore stood guard over him, his face twisted with fury. Remus was doubled over, grimacing, and Tonks stood with him, doubled over beside him, with her face close to his, one hand on his back and the other on his bicep. James could almost feel the energy passing between them and wondered how long it would take Remus to realize that she had a crush. Probably forever. Remus was very stupid about those sorts of things. Always had been. When all this was over, James would have to tell him.

He struggled to his feet, berating himself for thinking of things like crushes at a time like this. Harry helped him, bearing some of his weight, even though he could have done it on his own. He put an arm around Harry and hugged him tightly. "Are _you _all right?" he asked softly.

Harry nodded and turned his attention to Remus. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Remus straightened. "I'm fine. You only knocked the wind out of me."

"What happened?" James questioned.

"Nothing," Remus said quickly. "It was an accident. He accidentally elbowed me when he was trying to get to you."

"I didn't mean to," Harry said softly. And he hadn't. Much.

"Don't worry about it," Remus said with a wave of his hand. He turned to Tonks. "I'm fine, Tonks. Thank you."

James took a deep breath and turned his attention back to his best mate. "He isn't a Death Eater," James heard himself say. "He can't be. He simply can't. He hates Death Eaters. Hates them more than anyone. He never forgave them for killing his baby brother."

Dumbledore focused his gaze on Moody, his eyes hard. "Alastor, go and find Severus please. Tell him I need veritaserum."

"Veritaserum won't hold up in court," Moody replied back, both his eyes glued on Sirius, his face hard with anger.

James looked around. Remus and Tonks both wore expressions of purest confusion. Remus caught James' eye and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, "How can this be?"

It couldn't be, that's what.

"It might not hold up in court, but it's out best chance to find out what's happening here," James said decisively. He pointed at Sirius' form, now seated in a corner, his head lolling to the side. "That isn't Sirius. Sirius would never hurt me, and he would certainly never hurt Harry. He's been cursed, or he's lost leave of his senses or... something. He isn't a Death Eater."

"James, I know you like to see the best in people," Moody began.

"HE ISN'T!" James shouted, surprising himself with the volume of his voice. Harry, who still clung to him, startled and jerked away. James tried not to think that he might be making a fool of himself. He tried not to think about what Moody would have to say about being shouted at once the excitement had passed. Something threatening, James was sure. But mostly, he tried not to think that Sirius might really have betrayed him. He couldn't let his mind wander down that road. He wouldn't. Because if he couldn't trust Sirius, he couldn't trust anyone, and James did not want to live in a world where no one was trustworthy.

"James, I know this is difficult," Moody tried.

"Someone just go get the damned serum," James snapped. "I'd do it myself, but if I had to face Snape right now, I'd probably... I don't even know what."

"I'll go," Tonks declared. "I'll go get it." She looked at James. "I don't believe it, either. I've known him all my life, and I've never met anyone who hates dark wizards more. He still says sometimes that he wishes I could have met Regulus. He'd never side with the people who killed him."

She slipped out the door with surprising silence. James reached out to Harry and Harry stepped toward him once again. "I'm sorry for frightening you," he whispered in his son's ear.

Harry only shrugged and laid his head on James' shoulder. "I'm a little jumpier than usual today." James squeezed him a bit tighter. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to help his child.

It seemed to James that a lifetime had passed before Tonks returned with a vial of veritaserum, as clear and unassuming as water. Odorless, tasteless, colorless. Dangerous stuff, really. One only had to sneak a few drops into a person's drink to have them talking nonstop about anything they were asked. James and Sirius managed to convince Slughorn to teach them how to make it their fifth year, though students typically didn't learn it until seventh. It hadn't even been that difficult: they were both members of the Slug Club and at the top of their class in Potions. They had only to feign excitement about the potion, and Slughorn was eating out of their hands. Sirius, who was always stealthier than James, donned the invisibility cloak and sneaked some of it into Snape's orange juice one morning at breakfast. That was one of the best days of James' life. Snape gave the Marauders a lifetime's worth of ammunition without batting an eye.

Dumbledore carefully uncorked the vial and put three drops of the stuff on Sirius' tongue. They waited a few seconds for the concoction to take effect before Dumbledore pointed his wand at him. "Ennervate."

Sirius' eyes opened, but he appeared to be in some sort of trance, his face slack, his eyes staring straight ahead.

"What is your name?" Dumbledore asked. He would ask a few easy questions to ensure the potion was working.

"Sirius Black."

"Your full name," James corrected.

"Sirius Pollux Black."

"It's working," James reported. "He hates his middle name. He always lies and tells people it's 'Alphard'."

"I never knew that," Harry said indignantly.

"Neither did I," Remus added.

"I did," Tonks said. "My mother told me. And then he told me if I ever repeated it, he'd turn me into a pink bunny rabbit."

"Can we continue, please?" Moody growled.

"Yes," Sirius replied.

Moody turned his attention on Sirius. "Have you been trying to kill Harry Potter?"

"No. I've been trying to deliver him to the Dark Lord so the Dark Lord can kill him."

"Why are you calling him the Dark Lord?" Harry cried. "Only Death Eaters call him that!"

"It's what I was told to call him."

"Who told you to call him that?" Remus asked.

"Barty Crouch, Jr."

Dumbledore let out a small sigh. "How long have you been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Since the World Cup. I was hit in the forest while I was trying to get Harry and his friends away from the camp."

Harry gasped. "You left! That was why you left."

"Yes."

"I was there!" Harry said. "I was right there! I never saw anything! I never knew!"

"None of us knew," James said softly. He shook his head softly as everything began adding up in his mind. He'd had a million clues, and he'd never seen them. "He really was there that day, wasn't he? When Harry saw him on the map."

"He was giving me instructions. He didn't know about the map. He left when Moody knocked on the door. We were almost caught. The Dark Lord was very angry. After that, I went to him. He was staying at Crouch Manor."

"Crouch Manor?" Moody growled. "Where the hell was Barty?"

"He's dead. His son killed him."

"How could I have been so stupid?" James said, balling his hands into fists.

"You trusted me," Sirius said. "That was why he used me. He knew you'd trust me."

"Why didn't you fight it?" James asked, his voice rising with anger.

"I tried," Sirius said impassively. Like Harry before him, James was enraged by the calm emitting from his best mate. "I failed."

"Then you should have tried harder!" James screamed, ignoring the protestations of his throat. Harry jerked away again, taking a few steps backward to give his father's anger some space. His actions only piqued James' temper all the more. "I trusted you! I trusted you to protect Harry no matter what happened! And you tried to deliver him to Voldemort!" Tonks and McGonagall flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name, which only increased James' ire, bringing it to the boiling point. "I thought you loved him!"

"I do love him," Sirius replied levelly. "Like he were my own son."

"How can you love someone and do this to him?" James throat felt tight, and his chest felt empty, and his eyes stung bitterly. He bit his lip to keep his emotions in check.

"Crouch told me to," Sirius said, as though there were nothing wrong with it.

"Dad, can we go?" Harry said softly, pulling James away from his anger. "I want to go. Please? Can we just go home?"

James closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, trying to bite down the rage that threatened to froth over.

"Soon, Harry. I promise." He took a few more deep breaths, forcing himself to calm, before turning back to Sirius. "Sirius, why did Voldemort want Harry?"

"He wanted to use his blood for the potion. He believed that Harry's blood would make him stronger. He has Lily's protection now."

"That's true," Harry whispered. "He did use my blood, so he can touch me now. He touched my face."

James felt his features contort in disgust. Voldemort had stolen his child's lifeblood and his wife's love to make himself stronger? He looked at Dumbledore who wore an expression very like triumph on his face.

Harry stiffened as he reached up and brushed a finger against his cheek. James supposed that was where Voldemort must have touched him. The thought sent shivers down his spine. He reached out to Harry with his own hand and brushed against the same spot. Harry relaxed and took the two steps that brought him close to his father once more. James reached out to him, wrapping arms around him, pulling him close, reveling in the fact that he was still alive and whole.

"He won't hurt you anymore," James whispered in Harry's ear, so softly that no one else could hear. He knew the words were empty. He could no more promise that than he could promise to bring Lily back or pull the stars from the sky. James looked at Sirius' face, still slack and expressionless. He had no idea how he was going to forgive Sirius for this. No idea how he was going to trust him again.

"Dad, it wasn't his fault. It was the curse. You said yourself he can't fight it," Harry pointed out.

Out of the mouths of babes.

James looked to Dumbledore. "Harry's right. Sirius never could fight the Imperius. I used to think it was funny, but now..." James trailed off, not sure what he had meant to say. He wasn't sure what he thought about anything at the moment. "How do we get him out of it?"

"If he can't fight it," Dumbledore started.

"Or won't," James interrupted.

"Or won't," Dumbledore allowed. "Our only option is to get Crouch to lift it."

"He'll never lift it," Sirius offered. "I'm too useful."

"Not anymore," James said harshly. "We're onto you."

"Then he'll kill me," Sirius said casually, with no hint of emotion. "I know too much."

"No!" came Harry's strangled cry. "No, he can't! Dad, you have to do something! You can't let Crouch hurt him! He's crazy! I saw him! He'll do anything! He cut off his own hand and smiled! He killed Cedric! He brought Voldemort back! He-"

"Harry!" James said sharply, cutting him off before he could work himself into too much of a panic. A tear fell out of Harry's eye and that one tear broke the dam and unleashed the deluge. James was the same way; he could be stoic for a long while, but the moment the first show of emotion escaped, the rest was never far behind. Harry's face crumpled, and harsh sobs ripped themselves out of his throat. He buried his head in James' neck. "Shh," James whispered. "We're not going to let anything happen to Sirius. We'll figure something out. Don't worry, champ. We'll figure something out." He had no idea what they might figure out.

"If he won't lift it himself," Dumbledore said tensely. "There's only one other way to get rid of it."

"Kill Crouch," Moody growled.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Remus asked. "He's with Voldemort and surrounded by Death Eaters. Even if we _could_ get to him, we'd never be able to get close enough to him to touch him. Much less kill him."

"I know someone who can," Dumbledore said quietly. "James, take Harry to the hospital wing and wait for me there. I still need to hear everything that happened in the graveyard. Remus and Tonks, take Sirius up there as well. Tie him to a bed and watch him carefully, but keep him awake so we can tell when the curse has been lifted. The serum will wear off soon, and once it does, well, you both know how wily he can be."

Sirius didn't fight as Remus hauled him to his feet. He was significantly gentler than James might have been were he the one doing the hauling. Remus had always been significantly better at forgiveness than James. And a good thing, considering what James had done to him fourteen years ago. James let out a small sigh, watching Sirius disappear out the door. Remus had been amazing, really, and James and Sirius had betrayed his trust. Yet he'd forgiven them quickly and without fanfare.

"You're my friends," he'd said with a shrug, while James and Sirius were still berating themselves for having fallen victim to such twisted logic. James still wondered, sometimes, what had ever possessed him, in those days and weeks leading up to Lily's death, to turn his back on Remus. The temptation to blame Peter was great, but Peter hadn't forced him to believe the subtle accusations. James had done that himself.

"Come on, Harry," James said softly. Harry was still crying mournfully into his shoulder. James' heart nearly broke, thinking of all the things Harry had seen today, and it nearly stopped thinking how closely the boy had come to death. Twice.

Harry did not respond, and the others left silently, leaving Harry and James alone. Harry began to say things, to speak confessions, but his tears were so thick, contorting his voice, that James could only understand a few words here and there. He heard enough, though, to know where Harry's mind had gone. "My fault... should have known... shouldn't have said... Sirius... mum... Cedric..." James whispered the most soothing things he could think of: that no one blamed Harry, that he had done well, that everyone was proud of him, that he couldn't have known, but he wasn't sure how much Harry heard. He was in no position to listen just now anyway.

But all things, even grief, must come to an end, and so Harry calmed, much faster than it seemed to either of the men standing alone in Sirius' parlor.

"I'm sorry for crying like that," Harry said, wiping his eyes and pulling away from James.

"There's no reason to be sorry. I'd be crying, too, if I'd had the sort of day you've had. Hell, I might cry yet. Are you ready to go to the hospital wing?"

Harry nodded and looked up at James. "Can you tell I've been crying?"

James nodded lightly and suggested Harry go wash his face. That was always the worst part about tears. They could still give you away long after you'd managed to stop them. There had been times when James was younger when just looking in the mirror to see if he looked as though he'd been crying would set him off again. Crying over having cried. Emotions were horrid things, really.

When Harry emerged, he looked calmer. Most of the redness was gone from around his eyes, though those who knew him well would still be able to see it. "Let's go," he said resolutely, limping out the door. He insisted on taking no help from James, climbing the stairs one at a time on his good leg. He was such a stubborn thing. He got that from Lily, James told himself, ignoring his own mile-wide stubborn streak.

Finally, they arrived. Sirius was awake and lucid, glaring at Remus and Tonks and demanding to be let go as he struggled against the ropes that held him to the bed and issuing a steady stream or threats, each more horrible than the last. James set a silencing charm on him, not wanting Harry to have to listen to it any longer. Not wanting to listen to it any longer himself. Sirius' response to being silenced was to struggle all the harder, and James didn't need to be a lip reader to know that the words streaming from his lips now were not fit for polite company.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Tonks asked in wonderment. "If he'd been a prisoner, I'd have thought of that."

"It's hard to think of someone you love as a prisoner," Remus said softly. He and Tonks locked eyes.

"Yes, you're right," she allowed, blushing slightly.

"He isn't a prisoner," Harry corrected, almost sternly, seating himself on the bed next to Sirius. "He's cursed. He can't help it."

Pomfrey flew out of her office the moment she saw Harry. She spared a cursory glance for Sirius, who had stopped trying to speak and was instead focusing on breaking his bonds. "I wish you'd let me give him a sleeping potion, or at the very least a calming draught. He's going to hurt himself."

"Dumbledore wants him awake," Remus said simply.

Harry winced as Pomfrey unbandaged his leg. It looked awful and mangled. The skin around the largest cut was white and spongy."

"Acromantula bite," Harry explained when he caught James looking. "And a griffin tore up my back, but I think I got that mostly taken care of. Sirius taught me a brilliant healing spell. He-" Harry's voice fell off as he remembered and glanced at Sirius, who was now gnawing at the ropes on his shoulders.

"Stop that!" Remus ordered, and shot a nettle jinx at him. He jerked his head up to glare at Remus as small red dots appeared on his jaw. Remus quickly shot the anti-jinx, and the spots disappeared.

"Why isn't it lifted yet?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," James replied. "I don't know what Dumbledore has planned." It wasn't the first time James had wished Dumbledore would let someone else in on his plans for a change. Perhaps Sirius was right about him, but then, James reminded himself, what Sirius had said wasn't necessarily what Sirius actually thought. He'd been under the imperius at the time. It was an odd thought, a frightening through, that he'd been talking to his friend and yet not talking to him for nearly a year. They'd have quite a lot of catching up to do once Sirius was rid of the curse.

Dumbledore appeared at just that moment. James jumped up. "What were you thinking, putting an acromantula in the maze? It might have killed someone."

"It was defanged," Dumbledore said calmly. "That particular specimen is from the Hogsmeade Zoo."

James blinked.

"I hate zoos," Remus muttered. "They always make me sad."

"Me, too," Tonks agreed. "I can't stand to think of the animals all caged up in there."

Remus nodded and shot another nettle jinx at Sirius, who had now clawed at the ropes near his fingers so hard that his fingertips were left raw and bleeding. Small drops of it had fallen on the white sheets. Like blood on snow. Sirius had been hurt once during the winter of their sixth year when they were running in the Forbidden Forest with Moony. Moony smelled someone nearby - wandering students, no doubt, who would never know how close to danger they'd come - and went crazy trying to get to them. Prongs managed to stop him, and Moony turned on him, poised to attack. Padfoot leapt in front of him at the last moment and bore the brunt of his wrath in Prongs' place. Once Moony had been brought under control, Sirius limped away, still as Padfoot, yelping with each step, leaving a trail of spattered blood behind him. He would accept no help as he made his way to the castle, going so far as to growl at Prongs when he tried. James understood; he wanted Prongs to stay with Moony, to keep Moony safe and under control.

Prongs wrangled Moony back into the Shrieking Shack and then transformed and ran to the hospital wing, terrified that Sirius might have been killed. When he arrived, he found him wounded and weak, but fine, and could still recall the relief he felt. James never did forget the terrible brightness of his best mate's blood on the snow, or the feeling he got when he realized that Sirius had risked his own life to save James'. He'd done the same just last year, taking on Moony alone, risking his life to protect not just James, but Harry as well.

He'd risked his own life for Harry more than once. After Lily died, Sirius was the only one who took action, chasing down Pettigrew to keep him from hurting Harry, or James. And he'd done it again last year, running into the secret passageway's dark maw after Harry without a moment's hesitation the second he learned he'd been in danger. Pettigrew had tried to kill Sirius in cold blood that night.

James took a deep breath. He knew now that he'd almost certainly be able to forgive Sirius. They were friends, after all. Brothers, really, in all but blood. James would have to work out how to forgive him. He had earned it.

"I have just received good news," Dumbledore reported. "The curse should be lifted soon."

As though Dumbledore's words had brought the thing about, Sirius stopped struggling suddenly and went limp, as though exhausted. James lifted the silencing spell, and when Sirius opened his eyes, they were full of panic.

"James," he cried out, his voice strangled. "James, I didn't mean it. I didn't want to. James you have to believe me. I never meant to hurt him. I swear it."

"I know," James told him, his own voice tight. "You were under the curse. You couldn't control it."

"Harry!" Sirius cried. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" And then something happened that Harry and Tonks had never seen, and James and Remus had only rarely seen. Sirius Black dissolved into tears.

"It's all right," Remus said soothingly.

"We know it wasn't your fault," James added.

"You don't know the half of it," Sirius eked out, his eyes finding James' and holding them desperately. "He knows everything, James. He knows where you live. He knows where I live. Harry won't be safe anywhere. He knows - oh, dear God - I told him about Harry's dreams, James. He knows how to get into his mind. He knows about the connection."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm not generally a fan of the author's note, because I think they break up the action, and, well, you don't come here to read about me. But I felt the need to do one today. The response to the last chapter was... amazing. Humbling. Overwhelming. Wonderful. All these words that fall so frustratingly short of the things I wish to convey. I usually try hard to respond to reviews, especially first reviews, and I didn't this time because I thought you'd all appreciate it more if I focused my energies on updating quickly instead, but I don't want anyone to think I didn't appreciate them, because I did. Very much so. You all are fantastic. Truly delightful. I love to write. It's my favorite pastime in the entire world, and you all make it even better. Which is the highest praise I can give you. "Thanks" is such an odd word, because it always seems far too small, but it's the best I have to express what's inside of me. So, thanks.


	35. Trust on Trial

For a moment, James' world stood still. Dumbledore undid the ropes that still bound Sirius with a wave of his wand, and Sirius scrambled to a sitting position, never taking his eyes off James. He showed no other sign that he had noticed his sudden freedom. Desperation clung to him like a mist: a miasmic presence forming a gulf between them. This man he had known since childhood. This man who had stood with him at his wedding, who had waited with him in nervous tension when his mother was ill, who had cried with him when his wife died, who had helped him raise his son. And now there was this wall; this terrible chasm; this horrid, never-ending _space_ between them that couldn't be crossed.

"You told him that?" James asked, the words coming in short gasps. "You told him how to get into Harry's mind?" His hand found its way to Harry's, to cover it, to squeeze it, to protect this tiny bit of his son's world. A sudden, terrifying stillness filled his mind. A clock ticked loudly on the wall, marking the seconds in painful monotony. A bug buzzed loudly near the window, probably trying to find a way to escape. James wished he could join it: leap out the window and fly off into the forest. He looked at Sirius with anguish in his eyes. "How, Sirius? How could you have done that?"

"It wasn't his fault," Harry said quickly, but James was still having trouble believing it. His heart couldn't follow what his brain already knew. Fighting an imperius curse was no small thing, after all. People like him - and Harry - who could fight it instinctively were rare. People like Sirius, who were helpless in its wake, were far more common. Most wizards took years to fight off a curse, if they ever managed to do it at all. But the feeling of betrayal that had clamped down on his heart wouldn't accept that.

"James," Remus said softly.

"Prongs," Sirius begged, his gray eyes bright, his face still wet with tears. He wasn't even trying to stop them. Sirius closed his eyes and choked on a sob, his entire face contorting with the sort of grief James had seen on it only once before: the day he read in the Prophet that his brother had died. It almost felt obscene, having to witness such grief. "I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry. I can't... I don't... I just... I'm so sorry."

"Don't cry, Sirius. Please don't cry!" Harry's request jerked James out of his own head. Harry sounded near tears himself. He looked at James desperately, his lower lip trembling treacherously. "Dad, do something!"

It was such a pressing word, dad. So much responsibility in that one little word.

"Dad, please!" Harry continued. He jerked away from Madame Pomfrey, who was still tending to his wound with a single-minded vision gleaned from years of ministering to distressed students. He ignored her protest, and climbed out of the bed. His leg gave way the moment he tried to put weight on it, and he tumbled forward. Sirius and Remus both reached out to catch him, but Sirius got there first, catching Harry by both arms, just as he had done when Harry was a baby learning to walk. Sirius spent hours that way, straddling the line between holding on and letting go as Harry teetered forward, a smile on his face. Sirius had always been able to put a smile on his face.

Sirius pulled Harry up, and Harry sat next to him, threading his arm through Sirius' arm and laying his cheek on Sirius' shoulder. "Please don't cry," he repeated.

Suddenly, James found his voice. "All right, Harry. It's all right." He pulled out the handkerchief he always kept in his pocket and offered it to Sirius. That had been his father's doing. The man always had a handkerchief. James never thought about it much when he was young, but whenever there were tears, his dad had been right there with a handkerchief, even when he was the one who had caused the tears. When the man died, and James stood in the kitchen, hugging himself and sobbing in the rain, he almost expected his dad to walk through the back door and offer him a handkerchief. But, of course, he never would again. And so James had realized he must carry his own handkerchiefs from then on, if he wanted to be the sort of father who did things like carry handkerchiefs. Which he did.

This particular one had belonged to his dad, and was still monogrammed with his initials. HDP. Harry David Potter. He wouldn't be angry, if he were here. He was rarely angry. He'd loved Sirius unconditionally, accepting him into the Potter clan without question and loving some of the hurt of his own family away.

"Here, take it," James said softly, and Sirius did. He gulped twice, and the tears slowed, but did not stop. They ran down his face and across his jaw and dripped from his chin onto his robes. James watched them fall, keeping silent count in his mind, until he could think of something else to say. But he couldn't. Dumbledore broke the silence instead.

"This is not an insurmountable obstacle, Sirius. Harry has already been taking potions for dreamless sleep, stolen shamelessly from Professor Snape's private stores, I do believe. He will merely have to continue taking them for a few more weeks. In the meantime, James and I had already planned to arrange for him to study Occlumency."

"Occlumency?" Harry asked. "What is Occlumency?"

"Learning to close your mind. It's the best defense against Legilimency."

"Legilimency?" Harry echoed.

"It's a poorly understood branch of magic," James explained. "It's sort of like mind-reading, in a way, though it's significantly more complicated than that. The people who do it scoff when the rest of us call it mind reading, actually. It can be learned, but most practitioners have an innate skill. Many times, those people discover the skill on their own. Voldemort is highly skilled at Legilimency. It's part of how he commands such loyalty from his Death Eaters: it's supposed to be nearly impossible to lie to him."

"Who's going to teach me this legili... occlu... thingy."

"Occlumency," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And I am."

Harry nodded, then straightened as though struck by a sudden idea. He turned to Sirius. "Why can't you teach me? You're a wonderful liar."

Sirius shook his head. "Legilimency is much more complicated than just being a good liar. I'm a good actor, which isn't necessarily the same as being a good liar. Lord Voldemort would probably see through me in two seconds. I was never any good at Legilimency or Occlumency, either one. I wish I was. It would have made my life much easier. My dad tried to teach me when I was a teenager. He was quite good at it, but neither Reg nor I inherited his skill. We were both complete pants at it. I think he took it personally." Sirius tried for a smile, but it only came out as a grimace. His tears had mostly stilled, but pain still shone brightly on his face.

Harry squeezed Sirius' arm with both of his own arms, and laid his cheek back on Sirius' shoulder, waving away Madame Pomfrey, who had come to force him back to his own bed so she could finish cleaning his wound. "Leave me alone," Harry ordered. "See to Sirius. He's hurt."

Sirius looked down at the rope burns that criss-crossed his arms and the raw places on his fingertips as though he was only just noticing them. "Go, Pronglet," he said softly, giving Harry a little nudge. "I'm perfectly fine, but you'll want to get that cut healed up properly. Don't want it to get infected."

Harry gave a bleak smile. "I've missed being called 'Pronglet'. I don't think I realized until just now."

Sirius gave a tiny shrug as Pomfrey and James bore Harry's weight and brought him back to his own bed. Pomfrey immediately began swabbing the cut with a stinging potion. "Sorry," she whispered when Harry winced.

Dumbledore came to his bedside, conjured himself a squashy looking armchair, and fixed Harry with his piercing gaze. The fury he had shown earlier was gone, but there was still something disconcerting about seeing Dumbledore's eyes absent of their usual mirth.

"Harry, I hate to ask. I know you don't want to relive this again so soon, but I need to know what happened."

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. He looked for a moment from face to face and then lowered his gaze to the floor. He never lifted it as he spoke, telling everything that had happened since he touched the trophy. James took his hand and squeezed it lightly during the more difficult memories, but stayed silent as Harry charged forward. James closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was listening to a stranger's testimony instead of his son's. He could hardly bear to think of Harry being sliced up for blood for a dark potion, or being subjected to the cruciatus curse. James' muscles still ached from being under it for a few seconds, and Harry had been subjected to it much longer than that, from the sound of things.

"Why didn't you use your mirror?" James asked. "Why didn't you call me?"

"It broke," Harry confessed. "When the acromantula bit me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break it."

"We'll get you a new one," James assured him, patting his knee. "Don't worry about it."

Finally, Harry came to the part where Lily emerged from the end of Voldemort's wand. A single tear rolled down James' face as he heard Lily's words for him, and how Lily had saved Harry's life once again, working miracles from beyond the grave to protect their child. The room was still frightfully still. The damned bug had come to buzz in James' ear. It had taken some sort of liking to him; this must have been the tenth time since he got to the hospital wing that he'd flicked it away, but it kept coming back.

"Then the portkey brought me back here," Harry finished. He looked up, finding James' eyes. James forced out a smile.

"You've done really well, Harry. I'm so proud of you," James said, squeezing his hand one last time

Harry brightened slightly at the praise and squeezed James' hand back. Then his face fell. "What happens now?"

"Now, we hear Sirius' tale," Dumbledore said, turning his attentions to Harry's godfather.

"I'm not sure there's much I can tell," Sirius began. "The last few months are a bit hazy."

"Start with Crouch. I believe he was supposed to be dead."

Sirius nodded. "His parents broke him out of Azkaban. His mother drank polyjuice potion and pretended to be him. She went to prison in his place and died there. Crouch... Crouch Sr., that is... kept him under the Imperius Curse and kept him hidden, but he began to fight it. He managed to throw it off, and then he went looking for Voldemort. He'd heard the rumors about him from his father. He ran into Bertha Jorkins on the way. She was on holiday, and it turned out she knew a few rumors as well that helped him. He managed to fool her into helping him search, and then killed her once he was done with her. Then he began nursing Voldemort back to health.

"Using the tournament to lure Harry to the graveyard was Crouch's idea. He'd heard his father talking about the revived tournament last spring, when he was nearly free of the curse. He cursed me in the forest at the World Cup and instructed me to guide Harry through the tasks and set the portkey. Otherwise, I was ordered to be myself, so no one would suspect. To just carry on, like everything was normal, but it's foggy, thinking back on it now. I can't remember exactly what I said or did. I mostly only remember the orders."

"Things will come back a bit," Dumbledore assured him. "Though never completely."

"It's almost feels like lost time," Sirius agreed. "It's a little disconcerting. That's what Azkaban was like. Like I was alive and not alive all at once. Or stuck somewhere in between, maybe."

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "You're not the first person I've heard describe Azkaban that way. Poppy, perhaps we should give him a sleeping potion as well."

James looked at Harry and saw that his leg had been healed, and exhaustion had begun to creep into his face. Madame Pomfrey appeared with the potions just as Harry's friends burst into the hospital wing. "Harry!" Ginny cried. She ran to him and flung herself at him. Hermione and Ron came to sit on either side of him. James was very nearly pushed out of the way as Ron jumped onto the bed. He scooted to the edge of the bed to make room. Maybe that damned beetle would leave him alone there. He reached up to swat at it, and managed to catch it instead.

Harry chuckled slightly as he returned Ginny's embrace. "What happened?" she asked, pulling away, her eyes wide.

Harry shook his head, not wanting to repeat the story a third time. "Is it all right if I tell you later?"

Ginny nodded and wrapped her arms around him.

"We were afraid you were killed, mate!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry shook his head.

"But everyone's saying Cedric was," Ron continued. "Is that true?"

Harry nodded as his eyes filled with tears. He stared at the ceiling, trying to will them away. Blubbing in front of his dad was one thing; blubbing in front of his girlfriend and his two best mates was something completely different.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" Ginny cried.

Harry leaned into her, burying his face in her shoulder. He really wished Ron would stop staring at him. Hermione reached out to pat his back awkwardly.

"I don't believe it!" James suddenly shouted. Harry and Ginny jerked apart as Harry's tears stilled.

"What?" Harry asked.

James held his fist closed."Nothing," he said absently. "Madame Pomfrey, could you bring me a jar, please? With a lid? I've caught a very interesting bug here I'd like to keep. Only entomology has always been a hobby of mine."

Harry jerked his head up. Entomology had never been a hobby of his dad's. Harry didn't even know what entomology _was_. James caught his eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Harry understood that well enough. His dad wanted him to keep quiet.

"Well, I think there's been quite enough excitement for one day," Dumbledore said, rising. "Harry and Sirius both need to rest. James, if you'd like to stay the night, I certainly understand."

James nodded. There was no possible way he would be leaving Harry alone tonight.

Harry's friends said their goodbyes and left with Dumbledore just as Madame Pomfrey appeared with sleeping potions and the requested jar. James put his catch inside and closed the lid quickly, poking a few holes in the top with a diffindo charm. The beetle buzzed angrily, slamming itself against the glass. James gave the jar a little shake, knocking the thing onto the bottom of its new glass prison. "Behave yourself in there," he ordered.

Remus and Tonks stood suddenly. "Well, I should be going, too," Remus said. "I'll come visit you all first thing in the morning."

"Goodbye, Sirius," Tonks offered, starting for the exit. Remus rushed after her, almost tripping himself to get in front of her and hold open the door.

"They're cute together, aren't they?" Sirius asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked. "They're... together?"

"No," James replied. "But I think we'll have to see what we can do about that."

"Oh, I'm sure we can manage to convince them."

"Oh, certainly," James agreed excitedly. "All we'll need to do is come up with a perfect first date for them. You know Tonks better than I do. What sorts of things does she like?"

"Crab legs," Sirius dished with a smile. "She loves crab legs, but she's afraid to eat them in front of people because they're too messy and she always ends up losing her grip on them. I took her out for them once and she flipped a leg across the restaurant. It landed in some poor woman's wig, and Tonks was too embarrassed to tell her, so we let her leave like that, with a crab leg dangling down her back." Sirius sat up a little straighter, and his smile returned. He had always loved to tell stories, and he had always loved plotting with James even more.

"But maybe if he eats them, too, she won't be so worried about it. And she likes ballet. She used to dream of being a ballerina when she was young. Pity, really. I would buy her pink tutus, but her mother finally made me stop because she refused to take them off. They'd end up filthy and tattered, and Andromeda would have to chase her around the house to get her to take a bath and put on something clean. After that, I switched to ballerina dolls, and she'd carry them around with her everywhere. She always ended up getting them filthy, too, because she also liked playing in the mud. We thought she'd end up being a chef, the care she used to give to her mud pies."

James let out a little laugh; then Harry shifted slightly, and James remembered very suddenly where they were and why. His smile faded. Sirius' smile mirrored his, falling slowly from his face. For the tiniest of moments, they'd both forgotten, and things had been well, but now the gulf was suddenly there again, widening the space between them.

"You two should get to sleep," James said. "Madame Pomfrey will probably kick me out if she thinks I'm keeping either of you awake."

"Wait, what's with the bug?" Harry asked.

James smiled. "This," he said triumphantly, holding up the jar, "is Rita Skeeter. This is how she's been getting her stories all year!" Harry leaned in closely to take a look at the beetle. Upon close inspection, he saw that the beetle had markings around its eyes just like Skeeter's flashy glasses. "This thing wouldn't leave me alone. It's been landing on my shoulder ever since we got in here and buzzing in my ear. No matter how many times I swatted it away, it came right back. So I caught it. I was planning to squash it, actually, but the markings caught my eye. It's Skeeter! And I'm quite sure she's not registered!"

"Yes, of course!" Harry exclaimed. "There was a bug in Potions that day, and a water beetle in Hermione's hair. She must have been following me and-" Harry stopped and lifted his hand to his mouth to whisper into it. "Sirius, does this look familiar?"

Sirius bit his lip and shook his head. The excitement in Harry's face drooped slightly. "Remember the day we saw Malfoy from the Astronomy tower?"

Sirius shook his head again.

"It was the day you taught me reducto! And shield charms!"

"Sorry, Pronglet," Sirius whispered. "I don't remember."

"But you were there!" Harry insisted. "How can you not remember?"

"It's one of the aftereffects of the curse, Champ," James offered. "Everything's hazy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, but looked again at Sirius, pleading in his eyes. "You really don't remember?"

"I'm sorry," Sirius said desperately. "Really, I am."

"It's no matter," James said firmly. "We'll get you caught up somehow. But now, both of you have to take your potions. Come on, Harry. Bottoms up." Harry obediently drank the potion. "There's a good lad. Now, come on, lie down." Harry settled down in the bed as James tucked the blankets under his chin, just as he had done when Harry was small. He kissed Harry's forehead, right along his scar. "Good night, Champ. I love you."

"Mmm-hmm," Harry answered, his eyelids drooping. "Love you, too," he mumbled, already halfway into sleep.

"You should sleep, too," James said to Sirius, not looking up from Harry's peaceful face. It was good for James' soul to see Harry relaxed.

"Yeah, okay," Sirius said softly. James heard him drink the potion and settle down. After his regular breathing convinced James he was asleep, James looked at him - really looked at him - for the first time. He was all the worse for the wear. Dark shadows had appeared under his eyes that James was sure weren't there only hours ago, and even in sleep, his brow was furrowed with worry. His hands rested on top of the blankets, still raw and bloody from his battle with Dumbledore's ropes. James healed his injuries one by one with silent spellwork. He felt better once the angry redness was gone from his friend's skin.

He turned his attentions back on Harry. It was nowhere near late enough for him to be sleepy, and even so, he was quite sure sleep would be eluding him again tonight, though it surprised him sometimes. He'd have gone home for a book, but he was afraid to leave Harry's side, and knowing as he did that the Death Eaters knew where to find him, home didn't feel safe to him. Like it had already been invaded.

He sighed. They'd have to move, and soon. Harry wouldn't like it; he'd grown up in that house. All his memories were there, good times and bad, like ghosts in his mind. There was the spot in the yard where his swing set used to be; the scuff on the wall where he used to kick it when he was sitting in the corner; the lines on his door that marked his height, carefully penciled in with dates. It would be hard to leave all of that, but James couldn't see how it could be avoided. A peculiar sadness trickled into James' chest as he settled in to pass a long night standing guard over his child while he slept.

Two hours later, James was still watching Harry sleep, lost in a jungle of thoughts, when Dumbledore and Fudge came in. Fudge had a bag of galleons in one hand and his ridiculous lime green bowler hat in the other. James rose to meet them. "Harry's asleep," he whispered.

"Well, I suppose I can give this to you," Fudge replied, not bothering to keep his voice down. James had never much liked Fudge. He never much liked any politicians, actually, despite the fact that he'd occasionally considered going into politics himself. It seemed to him to be the best way to actually get things done in the world, but he always decided against it. He was too honest; he'd get himself into trouble. Someone would ask him what he really though of restrictions on werewolves or something similar, and he'd tell the truth and end up laughed out of the election.

Fudge thrust the bag at James, and James took it. "It's the prize money, and he can keep the trophy, if he wants to-"

"I doubt he'll want to, but I'll tell him," James interrupted, still whispering and hoping that Fudge would take the hint.

He didn't. He merely frowned at being interrupted and continued. "Normally there would be a ceremony, of course, but under the circumstances..."

"I understand completely. I don't think he'd feel right about a ceremony anyway. I don't think anyone is much in a mood for celebration." James turned to Dumbledore. "How are Amos and Melinda?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. They're with Professor Sprout."

James gave a single nod. It was fitting. She knew him best. If he were in their place, hearing stories he'd never heard before of things Harry had said and done from McGonagall would probably be a comfort.

"James," Fudge asked, fingering his hat nervously. "Dumbledore says that Harry's saying You-Know-Who is back."

James nodded gravely.

"But that can't be true!" Fudge exclaimed, his voice rising. "Surely you realize the boy is lying! "

James paused for a moment, thinking of his reaction after the first task. "Harry doesn't lie," he said definitely.

"All children lie, James," Fudge condescended. "He's probably doing it for the attention."

"Yes, because attention is something that's in very short supply in his life," James replied acidly. "And besides that, he's not a child. He's almost fifteen. He's nearly a man. And he doesn't lie."

"Well, he's lying about this," Fudge said almost desperately. "You-Know-Who can't be back. He just can't!"

"Cornelius, what we have here is a lucky break. Voledmort didn't count on Harry surviving and coming back to Hogwarts to sound the alarm. We can be ready for him this time. We can stop his rise, but the Ministry must act now. Send envoys to the giants and the werewolves. Get them on our side, so he can't recruit them to work against us. Take the dementors out of Azkaban; they will turn on us the moment they can. Begin recruiting an army. If we are ready, we can fight him. He won't be able to sneak into power like last time. You must do this, Cornelius."

"No!" Fudge shouted. "It would be career suicide! No one wants to believe that he's back!"

"But he is, whether you would believe it or not," James answered, his own voice rising. He bit back his temper, still not wanting Harry to wake. "It might cut your tenure short, yes, but history would remember you as the greatest Minister we've ever had - the man who saved us from the most powerful dark wizard to ever live."

"No," Fudge said, his voice hard, looking angrily between James and Dumbledore. "And if either of you work against me in this, I will put all my considerable clout behind seeing that you pay for it."

"Don't be a buffoon, Fudge," Sirius said from his bed. "You're talking about selling the entire country out for your own political gain. I thought politicians were supposed to be public servants. If you really care, you'll do as Dumbledore says."

Fudge put his hat angrily on his head. "I've heard enough of this. He is not back! The boy is lying! Good day, sirs." And with that, he strode purposefully from the room.

"It is as I feared," Dumbledore said, before James had even had time to say the swear words that were dancing on his tongue. "We'll have to do the work ourselves. Do you think Remus would resume his old work, reaching out to the werewolves?"

James nodded. "I'm sure he would. I'll speak with him about it tomorrow."

"Tonight would be better, and I'll have Hagrid reach out to the giants. We'll have to gather the old crowd: Emmeline Vance, Moody, Dedalus Diggle, all of them."

James listened to the orders silently. It seemed wrong, somehow, that a war could begin so simply. So calmly. So... quietly.

"We'll need to find a headquarters. Somewhere safe," Dumbledore continued.

"Use Grimmauld Place," Sirius offered. "It's huge, so there would be plenty of room for everyone to have privacy, and there are so many protections on that place a cockroach couldn't be there without the master of the house knowing it. We can put it under the fidelius charm to make it even more secure. I'll be the secret-keeper."

"Thank you, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "Grimmauld Place will be perfect. We'll put it under the charm tomorrow and move in. You should probably move in as well, if Voldemort knows where you live. You and Harry as well, James."

"I don't want to move!" Harry said suddenly.

James immediately crossed to sit with him. "How long have you been awake?"

"Ever since Fudge said the thing about keeping the trophy. You were right, I don't want to. Why would Fudge not want to help fight Voldemort?"

"Because he cares more about his position than about his constituency," Sirius replied, venom in his voice.

Harry nodded. "Hey Dad?"

"Hmm?" James asked, reaching out to run fingers through his hair.

"Thanks for what you said, about me not lying."

James gave a tiny smile. "I said it because it's true. Now, you should go back to sleep. Do you need more potion?"

Harry shook his head, but James told him to take another swallow of the stuff anyway. Harry immediately closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep once more just as Snape came into the room.

"What are you still doing here?" James asked, bolting up. "Haven't you been busy tonight, serving your master?"

"James," Dumbledore warned.

Snape ignored him, focusing his attentions on Dumbledore. "I would like a word with you, please." He spared a cursory glance for James and added, "in private".

"You can speak freely in front of James and Sirius." Dumbledore looked around Snape at both of them. "I assume you both plan to rejoin the Order?"

"Of course," James said quickly. Was there ever any question?

"Naturally," Sirius replied just as fast, sitting up in the bed. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Then they need to know what you have done tonight," Dumbledore continued.

Snape looked none too happy about this turn of events, but began speaking nonetheless. "It is done, just as you wanted it. No one suspects me."

"What?" James asked. "What's done? How can you trust him, Professor? You know he's a Death Eater."

"Was," Dumbledore corrected. "He _was _a Death Eater. James, Severus, it's high time you two faced one another as equals. You will be fighting side by side in this war. If you cannot like one another, you must at least learn to trust and respect one another"

"I will never respect a Death Eater," James spat, his face hard.

"Former Death Eater," Dumbledore corrected. "Snape turned spy for the Order at the end of the last war. He served as our eyes and ears within Voldemort's army. He has saved many lives."

"How can you be so sure?" James shot back. "Death Eaters are known for their lies and their treachery. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, I say."

"That isn't true," Sirius corrected. "Some of them see the light. Reg did, remember? He tried to leave. That's why they killed him."

James had nothing to say to that. He'd heard the story many times. "Very well," James agreed. "So, where have you been, then?"

"I was on a mission," Snape replied. "One that is not your business."

"You killed him, didn't you?" Sirius asked quietly. "You lifted the curse?"

Snape's countenance never changed, and he said nothing, but James suddenly knew it to be so.

"Thank you," James said softly.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "I didn't do it for you."

James sighed. It seemed every time James thanked Snape for anything, that was his response. It seemed like just once, the man could say, "you're welcome," and move on. James turned his back on Snape and returned to Harry's bedside. He was pleased to see that the lad was still sleeping. He wished Fudge hadn't awakened him at all.

"We should leave all of you to your rest," Dumbledore said. "Come, Severus, we have much to discuss. James, please do speak with Remus as soon as you can."

James gave a tiny nod. "I will."

The moment they were alone once more, James could feel Sirius' eyes boring into him. He swept a lock of Harry's hair away, but it fell right back the moment he let it go. He fiddled with blankets, pulling them up under Harry's chin and straightening them absently. He didn't want to look at his friend. He couldn't. The silenced hovered heavily between them.

"Are you going to go see Remus?" Sirius asked.

James nodded. "Soon. Only I don't want to leave Harry alone."

"I'm awake now. I'll look after him."

"The same way you've been looking after him all year?" James asked caustically, cutting his eyes to his old friend.

Sirius stiffened and let out a tiny gasp.

James deflated. "Sirius, I didn't mean that," he began, but Sirius cut him off.

"I really did try to fight it," he whispered, staring resolutely at his fingers.

"I know."

"Do you?" Sirius asked, looking up with one raised eyebrow. James could see the hurt on his face and hated himself for putting it there. But he was still so angry. A person shouldn't feel this much anger toward his best mate. Especially not for something he couldn't control. But James did, and he didn't know how to make it go away.

James sighed and met Sirius' eyes. "Yes, I do. Honestly, I do."

Sirius nodded, skepticism in his gaze. "Yeah, all right."

"You'll watch him, if I go?" James asked after a brief battle with himself. He'd have left Harry with Sirius without a second thought a few hours ago, and Sirius was significantly more trustworthy now than he had been then. James almost couldn't begrudge Fudge his colossal idiocy. Ignorance truly was bliss.

"Yes, of course. I would protect him with my life."

James gave a brief nod and kissed Harry's forehead once more. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he told Sirius. And then, just to be safe, he went to tell Madame Pomfrey he was leaving and asked her in a hushed undertone to keep an eye on Harry as well. Then he went to the fireplace and called out Remus' address, losing the world for a moment in the spinning of the flames.


	36. Journey

The moment James left, a painful silence descended upon Sirius. His heart beat quickly in his chest, and his stomach tied so tightly into knots that it was painful. He began to wonder if it was possible for a person to die of guilt. Harry slumbered peacefully, his breathing deep and even, his eyes moving quickly back and forth beneath his closed eyelids. Sirius hoped he was having a pleasant dream, and then remembered very suddenly that he'd been given a potion for dreamless sleep. He wasn't allowed to dream.

Because of Sirius.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and stood, stretching his muscles as far as they would go. He tried to think back on the past several months, trying to force a memory out of the fog, but nothing came. He couldn't even remember what he'd done this morning. It was as if he had awoken from a long sleep to find himself in the hospital wing and everything before that was like a dream. He couldn't remember what he'd done and what he hadn't, and if it had even been him doing the few things he remembered at all. Only his conversations with Crouch were clear in his mind.

Sirius wished he could have been the one to kill Crouch. He'd have done it in the first war. He'd have channeled all the anger and guilt and fear and heartache he now felt into action and gone after Crouch with a single-minded conviction. That was who Sirius was: a man of action. He'd always been that way: turning teardrops into hurried commotion. That was how he had always been so deadly during the war. That was also how he managed to get himself arrested after Lily died. When most people would have been wallowing in an ocean of grief, Sirius was running, reacting, avenging. This sitting and waiting was going to kill him. If the horrid guilt he felt didn't do it first.

Harry flopped over in the bed, an arm falling off the side. Sirius lifted it gently and tucked it under the blankets. He ran his fingers gently through Harry's hair, still covered in the grime of graveyards and Death Eaters and occamy spit. If he'd thought he could do it without waking him, he'd have cleaned his godson up. He felt it was the least he could do, but even with the sleeping potion, that probably would have been pushing it.

He ran a hand over his arm and noticed for the first time that it had been healed. Pomfrey must have done it. Part of him wished she hadn't; he almost felt he deserved the pain. He should have fought harder. He shouldn't have allowed himself to stay trapped in his own mind for so long. He should have been able to throw off the curse. It was a terrifying thought, how quickly he'd succumbed, and how completely. He shuddered, thinking how close Harry had come to danger... to death.

Sirius shuddered again, thinking that he himself had sent Harry there, knowing he'd face Voldemort. Knowing he'd die. He didn't see how James was ever going to forgive him. For that matter, he didn't see how he was ever going to forgive himself. Tears prickled painfully at his eyes, but he willed them away. Tears were forbidden to him: only anger was allowed for Blacks. Anything else was a sign of weakness, and rule number one for surviving in Grimmauld Place had always been to show no weakness.

Sirius plopped back down on the bed, wishing he had something to do, but there was nothing. Only quiet and darkness and the weight of the world in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Hello," James called the moment he stepped out of the floo into Remus' living room.

"In the dining room," Remus called back.

James found Remus sitting at his table, sketching. That was what he often did when he was distressed.

"Fudge came by," James began, seating himself. No use beating around the bush about it.

Remus looked up. "I'm assuming you're not here to pass along his regards."

James let out a small, nervous laugh. "No. Actually, he made quite the fool of himself. He doesn't want to believe Voldemort's back."

"Can't say I blame him for that," Remus interrupted. "I'd rather not believe it myself." He let out a loud sigh. "I've been thinking; I should go underground, and quickly. Fudge is too blinded by his own prejudices to ever reach out to werewolves, but Voldemort won't waste any time doing it. If I get there first, maybe this time..."

The words hung heavily in the air.

"Are you sure?" James asked. "You hated being underground."

"I'd hate watching people die and knowing I could do something to stop it more."

James nodded; he'd expected that answer, but he still hated it for his friend. Hated it for everyone he loved, actually. The world was suddenly a much more frightening place than it was just this morning. Though at least Harry was safe. For now.

"What are you drawing?" James asked, grasping for anything to say.

Remus turned his sketchpad around. It was still rough, but there was no question that it was Cedric. "He was one of my best students," Remus admitted, a frown on his face. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone work so hard, except for Harry. He was a good person. Kind. The other students looked up to him; you could see it in their faces." He lowered the picture and picked up his charcoal to resume drawing. "I don't think I'll ever get used to the idea of death."

"I know what you mean. I've seen quite a lot of it. More than my fair share, I sometimes think, but I never did make my peace with it."

Remus put down the charcoal, but didn't look up. "What do you reckon it's like to die?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. I hope it's like a party. And everyone you love is there, and your favorite song is playing on the wireless, and all your favorite foods are laid out, and you get to wear flannel pajamas all the time."

Remus snorted. "I think it's a lot like here, only better. Maybe you get to see the life you would have had if all the evil in the world hadn't got in the way. You know, you'd still be happy with Lily and probably have about eight more kids running around after Harry. And I never would have been bitten, so I could have a job. Maybe I could be a teacher; I really liked teaching. And maybe I'd have a wife and children. I always wished I could have a family."

"You could still have a family, Remus," James put in.

Remus snorted again; disbelief this time, no hint of mirth. "Who would ever marry a werewolf?"

"Loads of people, probably. Not everyone shares the ministry's prejudices."

Remus shook his head as though trying to shake off a dream. He waved his hand through the air. "It's no matter."

"Moony, there are plenty of people who don't care. Just look at the Marauders. We never cared."

Remus returned to his drawing. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"But, Remus, you-"

"I said I don't want to talk about," Remus replied, an air of finality in his voice. "Even if there were someone who didn't care, I still wouldn't marry her. I wouldn't want to do that to anyone. Especially not someone I loved."

The silence was thick. Second ticked by silently. James loved that he and Sirius and Remus were good enough friends to hold the silence, and feel no need to fill it.

"How's Harry doing?" Remus asked after a few moments had passed.

"He was asleep when I left him. Sirius is with him."

Remus lifted his gaze, a tiny hint of a smile on his face. "You trusted Sirius enough to leave him?"

"Well," James admitted, veering his eyes to the side and scratching absently as his arm. "Madame Pomfrey's watching, too."

Remus sighed a sigh that flooded James with chagrin. "You do realize that he's not responsible for what happened, don't you?"

"Well, yes. Only it's hard to make myself believe it." James glanced up, choking on the words and the vile taste they left in his mouth. "He should have fought it."

"He tried. You know he tried."

"He should have tried harder!"

Remus shook his head. "It's not an easy thing to fight, Prongs. That's rather the entire point, actually. You never had much trouble with it, so you never did understand how difficult it is for the rest of us."

"I do understand."

"I don't think you do. If you understood, you wouldn't still be angry. It's completely illogical to be angry with a person for being cursed. You may as well be angry with someone for being sick. Or for dying."

"I have been angry with people for dying," James said softly. "I was furious at Lily for a little while. Angry that she left me, and I knew it was stupid, even at the time, which just made me feel all the worse. I mean, it's not like she could help it. But I was still furious with her for leaving me. That's how I feel now. I know it's stupid, and I know I've no right to be this angry because he's my best mate, and it wasn't his fault, and he deserves better from me. But I can't help it. He almost killed my son!"

"Crouch almost killed your son," Remus corrected in his soft baritone. "Sirius had nothing to do with it."

"Sure looked like Sirius," James grumbled.

"And sounded like Sirius, and acted like Sirius," Remus provided. "But it wasn't Sirius. Which is why the Imperius curse is so dangerous."

James nodded along. Everything Remus said was true, and he knew it. But it didn't change the way he felt.

"Would you like to stay for a little while? Play some chess? Have a drink? Sirius sent me oak-matured mead for Christmas, and I haven't opened it yet."

James shook his head. "I should get back. I want to be there when Harry wakes up."

"Harry will be safe with Sirius. It might be good for them to have some time alone. It'll give them a chance to talk."

"One drink," James relented. "And one game of chess, but then I really have to get back."

But where Marauders were concerned, one game of chess was never enough, and James didn't return to the hospital wing until a few hours later. Sirius and Harry both slumbered peacefully, and James lay in the bed next to Harry, glad for the mead buzzing through his head and pushing him toward sleep.

When James awoke, the sun was shining brightly. Sirius and Harry were both awake. Harry sat on Sirius' bed, wrapped in a blanket. He had wet hair and was wearing clean clothes. James was glad to know that Sirius had made him clean himself up. He'd looked a fright yesterday.

The two of them were playing chess. Sirius was losing from the sound of things. "You're cheating!" he accused.

"No, I'm not," Harry said with a laugh. "You're just a sore loser."

"Shh. You'll wake your dad."

"It's high time he woke up. It's after ten o'clock. He'll miss lunch if he continues at this rate."

"Yes, but you know how cranky he is when he first wakes up. Better to let him get his nap out."

"I am not cranky when I wake up," James retorted through still-closed eyes.

"Uh-oh, Pronglet. Sleeping Beauty awakes."

James sat up slowly and stretched. "Morning, Dad," Harry said with a smile. Sirius seemed suddenly very focused on the chess pieces.

"Who's winning?" James asked, pushing himself up and coming to look over Harry's shoulder at the board.

"No one yet," Harry reported. "But I just took Sirius' queen."

"He kidnapped her," Sirius replied, studying the board. "It was a dirty trick involving knights and castles and the shameless murder of two innocent bystanders, not to mention the bishop." He looked up and leveled a stern gaze at Harry. "A man of the cloth, Pronglet. You should be ashamed!"He turned his attentions back to the board. "But I'll get her back! You watch!" Sirius moved his castle forward. "Beat that!" he said triumphantly.

Harry quickly took Sirius' castle with his own.

Sirius looked up glaring. "Do that again, and I'll turn you into an aqua marten."

Harry laughed, and James found himself joining in.

"Can I play the winner?" James asked.

"That'll be me," Harry said confidently.

"Oh, I don't know, Pronglet. I'm coming from behind. Watch this. He moved a knight to take a pawn.

"Oh dear, a dead pawn!" Harry cried! "How will I ever recover?"

"Look closer," Sirius replied, a smirk on his face.

Harry did, and swore when he saw that Sirius had checkmate. "I never even saw that!"

"Which is why I am and will always remain the chess champion," Sirius replied nonchalantly, threading his fingers together and placing them behind his head. He leaned back in the bed. "James, you and Harry play. I need to look over my manuscript anyway."

"Wasn't that due yesterday?" James asked.

"It was, and it's been finished and sent, but I feel rather odd about it. I don't really remember doing it, so I sort of feel like I'm taking credit for someone else's work. I think I'm going to call the president of the Magical Astronomical Society and explain it all to him." He picked up a stack of papers from the table and flipped through it. "I've skimmed it a bit, and it's mostly how I would have done it. All the information is correct anyway, though it's a bit more exoteric than I'd have written it. I like to feign brilliance, you know."

"That might not be so bad," James offered. "You could be one of those people who makes science make sense. Bringing comets to the masses. Call it 'Astronomy for the rest of us'!"

Sirius shrugged. "I still don't feel right about it."

"One game?" James asked. "Then we'll leave you alone to moon over your own brilliance for as long as you need. We'll even moon along, if you like."

Sirius quirked a lip. "Only if you promise to moon believably."

"Of course," James agreed, his own mouth twisting into a smile.

It felt like old times, sitting with Sirius and playing chess, Harry's head resting on his shoulder. Every once and again, Harry would speak up with some piece of advice. "Watch his castle," or, "You should take that pawn," or, "Your knight's about to be taken." More than once, Harry saved him from impending destruction.

"No fair," Sirius complained. "You two are ganging up on me!"

"It's not our fault if you're pants at chess," Harry said with a cheeky grin.

James laughed. "You tell him, Champ!"

"You're no better!" Harry retorted. "You still haven't moved your queen! It's been in danger from his pawn for three whole turns!"

James reached up to give Harry a playful cuff. A moment later, Harry returned it.

"Get him, Pronglet!" Sirius cheered, a smile on his face.

"You shouldn't be encouraging him," James protested with a smile.

"He doesn't need the encouragement. It's time to face facts, Prongs. You've raised yourself a troublemaker."

"And proud of it!" Harry added.

James threw an arm around Harry's shoulder and pulled him in, planting a kiss on top of his head. "I'm proud of you, too."

Harry nodded. His smile faded as he thought back on the activities of the past few days. His eyes searched the room for something - anything - to take his mind off it. They landed on the bag of galleons sitting on his nightstand. "Dad, what are we going to do with the prize money?"

"I don't know," James replied. "It's your money. What do you want to do with it?"

Harry shrugged. Nothing came to mind. He didn't even want the money. It should have been Cedric's. It would have been, if he hadn't insisted on being so noble. He still would have died, Harry tried to tell himself. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault: that he should have been able to do something to stop it. He should have been able to distract Crouch long enough for Cedric to run, or if he'd only cast a spell. Sirius had taught him loads. Confringo would have done the trick. Hell, even a jelly-leg jinx would have been preferable to him just standing there and doing nothing. Tears welled in his eyes, and he forced them away.

"I don't want it," he said bitterly. "It shouldn't have been mine anyway. It should have been Cedric's. He should have won."

"Maybe you could give it to charity," Sirius suggested. He smiled. "Do you remember how Charity Burbage used to steal money from people when we were in school?" Sirius turned to Harry to explain. "She'd go around with a little cup, saying, 'Give money to Charity. Give money to Charity,' and people would. Even the ones who knew her name was 'Charity'. I fell for it myself a few times, but I worked it out quickly. Quicker than your dad, in any event. When she got hired on here, I tried to convince her to give me my money back, but she wouldn't. She said if I was stupid enough to give it to her, I deserved to lose it. She claimed she managed to get enough money to buy herself a pony."

Harry smiled. "I wonder what Hermione would think of that. Burbage is one of her favorite teachers."

"Isn't every teacher her favorite teacher?" Sirius asked.

Harry shook his head. "She doesn't like Snape much. And she thinks Trelawney's a fraud."

"Can't blame her for that," James said, moving his castle forward to get checkmate.

Sirius took it well, after he'd finished swearing. James found himself laughing, and a moment later, Sirius joined in.

"I think I'm going to go get cleaned up," James reported. "Make sure my house is still standing and whatnot. I might add a few more wards while I'm at it."

"Not a bad idea," Sirius said thoughtfully.

"Harry, would you like to come along?"

Harry shook his head. "Lunch will be soon. I was thinking I'd like to see my friends. But I don't think I want to go to the feast tonight."

"It might make you feel better," Sirius said softly, his eyes glued to the flor. "Dumbledore will probably do some sort of memorial for Cedric. Those things can be helpful, when... when you've lost someone."

Harry looked up, eyes glistening. "Are you going to go?"

Sirius' eyes met Harry's. "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it yet. I suppose I will. It's expected and all."

"No one else knows what happened to you, though, right?" Harry asked.

Sirius shook his head. "And now that Fudge has decided to start being an idiot-" Sirius began.

"Start?" James interrupted.

"Now that Fudge has proven that he's as big an idiot as we all knew him to be," Sirius corrected.

"That's better," James said approvingly.

"There's no need for any sort of official explanation," Sirius continued. "It was all in the Prophet this morning. They're denying everything, saying Cedric died in an accident."

"Hm," James said. "Maybe we could convince our little winged friend to write something true for a change."

Sirius gave a wry smile. "Do you think she could manage it?"

"It'll be difficult for her, no doubt," James agreed with mock sincerity. "But I suppose she'll have to survive. Unless she wants us to just - oops - let her little secret out!"

"You never were good at keeping secrets," Sirius agreed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. James had kept more of Sirius' secrets than he cared to think about.

"I should go," James said. "Harry, will you be all right here?"

Harry nodded and looked at the clock. "I was thinking I should get back to my dormitory anyway. I haven't packed at all." Harry stood to hug his godfather and his father in turn.

"Will you ride the train tomorrow?" James asked.

Harry thought about that a moment. "No, I think I'd rather drive. Can we drive?"

James smiled. "Sure. I'll meet you in Sirius' quarters. We can go to the Three Broomsticks for lunch."

"I'd like that," Harry said softly.

"Me, too," James said. "So, I'll see you then?"

Harry nodded and waved as James stepped toward the floo.

"Prongs?" Sirius asked as he was about to toss in the floo powder.

James turned slowly.

"Do you think we could..." Sirius whispered.

"Stop worrying," James said softly. "It wasn't your fault." Before Sirius could say anything more, he stepped into the fire and disappeared in a whirlwind.

"I should be going, too," Harry said. He began to gather his things just as two people appeared at the door. Cedric's parents.

"Professor Black," Melinda said gravely. "Cedric spoke often of you. You were his favorite professor."

"He was a wonderful student. A joy to have in class," Sirius replied. "I'm so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Amos said. "We're still in shock, really."

"We came to say thank you, for bringing him back to us," Melinda said, turning to Harry.

"And we wanted to know if he... did he... what did he... did he say anything, before he died?" Amos asked.

Harry tried to think back, but couldn't remember. It all seemed like something that had happened very long ago. "There wasn't much time. But he wouldn't leave me there alone, even though I told him to. He was a hero. A true Hogwarts Champion."

Melinda smiled. "Thank you for telling us that."

Harry became suddenly aware of the bag of money was in his hand. He'd grabbed it just before the Diggorys came in. He thought maybe he'd give it to Dumbledore. "Here, you should have this. Cedric should have had it. He should have won."

"No, son. We don't want it," Amos said, pushing the bag away. "That's yours. You keep it. Buy yourself something that will make you happy."

Harry sighed. He could never spend this money. No matter what he bought with it, it would always remind him of Cedric.

The Great Hall was surprisingly quiet when Harry entered, despite it being filled to capacity. The Hufflepuffs were an especially mournful lot. All of them had donned black, and very few of them had dry eyes. Cho Chang was weeping openly, surrounded by a clump of girls who tried to comfort her. Most of the students at the other tables wore black as well - even the Slytherins. Harry wished he'd known. He felt terribly conspicuous in his red t-shirt. He said a little spell to change its color and slipped into a seat between Ginny and Hermione. The twins and Ron sat across from him, their faces pale and drawn.

Hermione was reading the paper, frowning. "They're saying Cedric died in an accident," she reported blandly.

"I know," Harry replied with a sigh. He knew her well enough to know that she was leading into a hundred questions. He should have known this was coming. He lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard and told his friends exactly what had happened in the graveyard.

Ginny laid her head on his shoulder, slipping her hand into his. Harry put an arm around her. Being near her made everything better, it seemed. The terror he'd felt in the graveyard was slowly being replaced in his mind by all the love that had flooded him since he'd returned.

The group ate in an awkward silence after Harry finished his tale. The entire hall was painfully silent with the normal buzz of student conversation missing. It was instead replaced by the sound of forks and knives scraping against plates as students ate. Harry found he didn't want his turkey sandwich. He pushed it toward Ron, a question in his eyes.

"That's interesting," Hermione said.

"What?" Ron asked, taking the proffered sandwich.

"It says here that Bagman has gone missing. He disappeared yesterday after the task and hasn't been seen since. It says he got himself into trouble gambling with some goblins."

"You see, Fred," George said. "I told you it wouldn't do any good to blackmail him."

"That's who you were blackmailing?" Harry asked.

"We didn't actually blackmail him," Fred provided.

"Only considered it," George continued.

"We won the bet with him at the World Cup, see."

"Gave him our life's savings."

"We were going to use that to start our joke shop."

"But he paid us in leprechaun gold."

"We thought it must have been a mistake, so we wrote to him."

"He never answered."

"So we confronted him at the first task, but he said he wasn't paying."

"Said we were too young to gamble."

"So we asked for our original investment back."

"Only he didn't have it. He'd used it to pay off some goblins."

"He'd racked up quite a few debts, you see."

"And goblins don't play quite so nice as us," George finished.

"So you lost your entire life savings?" Ginny asked mournfully? "But what about your joke shop?"

Fred shrugged. "We'll still open it, Gin. Just a little later than we originally planned. We'll work for the ministry for a few years and save up that way."

"A few setbacks could never stop us," George agreed.

Harry was struck with a sudden idea. That afternoon, when he was sure they'd be alone, he sneaked to their dormitory with his prize money.

"Take it," he said, thrusting it at them. "Use it to open your shop. The world will need a few laughs soon."

"Blimey, Harry!" Fred exclaimed. "We can't take this."

"Yes, you can," Harry insisted. "Consider it a personal favor if you have to. Just take it!"

"Thanks," George said, looking shell-shocked. "This is fantastic!"

"Phenomenal!" Fred agreed.

"Stupendous!" George added.

"Monumental!" Fred continued.

"It's nothing," Harry said, interrupting. He could see them going on like that for a while.

"Do you want us to make you a partner?" George asked.

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, I don't want anything. I don't even want you to tell anyone where the money came from. All I want you to do is make the world happier. Make people laugh."

"Will do," Fred agreed gravely.

True to his word, James was waiting when Harry knocked on Sirius' door the next day after all the students had gone. Part of him wanted to ride with them until Malfoy elbowed his way to inform Hermione that she was a mudblood and she'd probably be next. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George all hit him with hexes at the same time, none of them caring that a teacher might see. It turned out only Sirius saw, and he congratulated them, warning them they should probably clear off before any of the other staff members saw the tentacles sprouting from Malfoys eyelids and put two and two together.

Sirius was still out when Harry knocked, supervising the loading of the horseless carriages that would take the students to Hogsmeade. Harry insisted on waiting until he returned to leave, determined to say goodbye. He hugged Sirius tightly, and Sirius chuckled. "I'll be seeing you soon. We're all moving to Grimmauld Place, remember."

Harry scowled slightly. He wasn't too keen on the idea of moving, though living at the Order Headquarters ought to be exciting at least. James and Sirius shook hands, awkwardness still hanging between them. "Would you like to come to lunch with us?" James asked.

"Nah," Sirius replied. "I've got grading to catch up on, and you two need some time to yourselves."

"Tea, then?" James asked.

"Yeah, sure, okay," Sirius agreed. "I'll come round for tea."

"Good," James said with a small smile. "Four o'clock. I'll invite Remus as well. He'll probably be glad to have something to do. He's going underground soon."

"With the werewolves?" Harry asked.

James nodded sadly. "His idea. He wants to help however he can. Come on, let's get your things." James used a shrinking charm on Harry's trunk and put it securely in his pocket. Harry went through the floo first, eager to get away from school.

"See you at four," James said, and then he, too, was gone.

The drive home was lovely. James' car was charmed to avoid obstacles on its own, so he could take it at great speeds. He had always enjoyed putting the top down and riding swiftly down the road, the wind whipping at his hair. Sirius' motorbike had been even better for that sort of thing. James glanced at Harry out of the side of his eye. He stared out the window, saying little. James wished he knew what to say to make things better, but he didn't.

James swore when he saw lights behind him and slowed down, pulling over to the side of the street. The police officer climbed out of his car, his face stern. He seemed surprised when he saw James, as though he'd been expecting teenagers. "Sir, have you any idea how fast you were going?"

"I don't know," James replied. "I was just driving. Would you rather I be looking at the speedometer or the road?"

Harry suppressed a grin. This poor muggle had no idea what was about to hit him.

The policeman pulled out his citation pad. "Name?" he asked.

"Sirius Black," James replied.

"Serious... what are you playing at?" the officer said sternly. "Let me see your license and registration!"

"I haven't got any," James replied.

"You haven't... What do you mean you haven't got any."

James turned to Harry. "I though that was pretty self-explanatory. Didn't you?"

"Sounded straightforward to me," Harry agreed, giggling.

"Think driving without a license is funny, do you? Step out of the car, sir. You're under arrest."

"Oh, I don't think so. I haven't got time to be under arrest, you see. I'm taking my son here home. He's awfully tired. It's been a rough year for him. He's at St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Criminally Incurable Boys, you know. Ever since he chopped up our next door neighbor last summer. I rather thought she deserved it, but people will fuss."

"He... you... he did WHAT?"

"Chopped up our neighbor," Harry said, leaning forward to look at the officer. Then he looked at his father. "Why does everyone always act so surprised when I say that?"

"Well, we really must be going," James continued. "But it's been lovely chatting with you. Good day, sir!"

James had already driven away before the police officer realized what had happened. Harry laughed heartily in the passenger seat. "Do you think he'll come after us?"

"Oh, I've no doubt he will," James said with a wink, stepping on the gas as he rounded a corner, taking them out of sight of the police officer. "Luckily, we have this." James hit the button on the dash that would make the car invisible. "I had Sirius and Remus help me work it out last week. You never know when being invisible might come in handy."

The flashing lights of the police car came round the corner and stopped suddenly. The police officer and his partner both got out, looking around them with bewilderment on their faces. "Wicked," Harry crowed. "So, when will you be teaching me to drive this thing?"

"When you're thirty," James replied. "Though perhaps we could start this summer."

"Wicked," Harry said again, and settled in for the journey home.

The End

* * *

Author's Note: I've had several questions about whether or not I'm planning to continue this through all seven books, and the answer is a resounding yes! I've got the first chapter of the fifth book nearly done, so look for it soon. It'll be called Not for Anything: Dark Storm Rising.


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